


Kink Meme Fills, etc

by falsteloj



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-11-22 19:39:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 35,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/613514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falsteloj/pseuds/falsteloj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Hobbit one shots - for more info on individual stories please check out the <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/613514/chapters/26680509">Chapter Index</a>.</p><p>Most of these are Bilbo/Bofur, with a handful of Gen, Bilbo/Thorin, and Fili/Kili fics thrown in for good measure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter Index

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Links and summaries for all my Hobbit stories, categorised by ship.

Chapter Index. (You are here!)

I've categorised by pairing, so you will find:

 - Bilbo / Bofur (Boffins)

 - Bilbo / Thorin (Bagginshield)

 - Dwalin / Ori (Dwori)

 - Gen and Others

* * *

**Bilbo / Bofur (Boffins)**

★. [Courtship](http://archiveofourown.org/works/613514/chapters/1109109). Bofur braids Bilbo's hair and everyone gets the wrong idea. [G]

★. [Crutch](http://archiveofourown.org/works/650299/chapters/1206862). Bofur wants Bilbo to lean on him. [G]

★. [First Time Anxieties](http://archiveofourown.org/works/650299/chapters/1183269). Bilbo is afraid of what their wedding night will hold. [E]

★. [Fitting In](http://archiveofourown.org/works/613514/chapters/1122880). Back in the Shire, Bofur struggles to fit in to Hobbit society. [G]

★. [Generosity](http://archiveofourown.org/works/650299/chapters/10968509). Bilbo's afraid that Bofur's kindness means he sees him as a child. [G]

★. [Gone](http://archiveofourown.org/works/650299/chapters/1186545). Bofur grieves for Bombur. TW for character death. [G]

★. [H/C](http://archiveofourown.org/works/613514/chapters/1109920). Bilbo gets himself hurt, Bofur patches him up again. [G]

★. [Hirsute](http://archiveofourown.org/works/613514/chapters/1112875). Bilbo grows a beard. [M]

★. [Injury](http://archiveofourown.org/works/650299/chapters/1216875). Bofur loses an arm in an accident, and his sense of self along with it. [T]

★. [Jealousy](http://archiveofourown.org/works/650299/chapters/1199809). Bilbo is ashamed of the possessive jealousy he feels for Bofur. [T]

★. [Kiss It Better](http://archiveofourown.org/works/613514/chapters/1140469). Fluffy fluff. [G]

★. [Letters](http://archiveofourown.org/works/650299/chapters/1192531). Bilbo writes down his feelings for Bofur - Bofur has to confess that he can't read. [G]

★. [Lost Chances](http://archiveofourown.org/works/613514/chapters/1180312). Bofur dies of fever before Bilbo can confess his heart. [T]

★. [Matchmaking](http://archiveofourown.org/works/613514/chapters/1122726). Bombur plays matchmaker. [G]

★. [Miscommunication](http://archiveofourown.org/works/613514/chapters/1168995). Bilbo tells Bifur all about his crush, not realising that Bifur understands every word he's saying. [G]

★. [Modern AU](http://archiveofourown.org/works/613514/chapters/1138266). What it says on the tin. [G]

★. [Prank](http://archiveofourown.org/works/613514/chapters/1123556). Fíli and Kíli play a cruel prank on Bofur and give him false hope that his feelings are returned. [G]

★. [Proposal](http://archiveofourown.org/works/613514/chapters/1164732). Bofur asks the Thain's permission to marry Bilbo. [G]

★. [PWP](http://archiveofourown.org/works/613514/chapters/1134166). At Esgaroth they finally get chance to truly enjoy each other. [E]

★. [Silence Is Golden](http://archiveofourown.org/works/613514/chapters/1149004). Bilbo can't keep quiet. [E]

★. [Smut](http://archiveofourown.org/works/613514/chapters/1180500). Hobbits have sensitive ears... [E]

★. [Temptation](http://archiveofourown.org/works/613514/chapters/1137097). Bilbo gives into temptation and sleeps with Thorin behind Bofur's back. I also wrote a [companion piece from Bofur's POV](http://archiveofourown.org/works/613514/chapters/1139783). [E]

★. [Threat](http://archiveofourown.org/works/613514/chapters/1119016). Bofur's past transgressions come back to haunt him when he is warned off pursuing Bilbo. [G]

★. [Unrequited](http://archiveofourown.org/works/613514/chapters/1150756). Bofur falls for Bilbo - but Bilbo only has eyes for Thorin. [G]

★. [Worry](http://archiveofourown.org/works/613514/chapters/1113670). Bofur worries about Bilbo. [G]

* * *

**Bilbo / Thorin**

★. [For You](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11400816). Drabble - Thorin gives Bilbo a gift. [G]

★. [Temptation](http://archiveofourown.org/works/613514/chapters/1137097). Bilbo gives into temptation and sleeps with Thorin behind Bofur's back. I also wrote a [companion piece from Bofur's POV](http://archiveofourown.org/works/613514/chapters/1139783). [E]

★. [The One Ring](http://archiveofourown.org/works/613514/chapters/1105958). Thorin suggests Bilbo learn through practice. [E]

★. [Unrequited](http://archiveofourown.org/works/613514/chapters/1150756). Bofur falls for Bilbo - but Bilbo only has eyes for Thorin. [G]

* * *

**Dwalin / Ori (Dwori)**

★. [Angst](http://archiveofourown.org/works/650299/chapters/1215966). Dwalin thinks Ori should not have been allowed to accompany them. [G]

★. [Courtship](http://archiveofourown.org/works/650299/chapters/1187814). Dwalin attempts to court Ori. [T]

★. [Crying](http://archiveofourown.org/works/650299/chapters/1253816). Dwalin tries to comfort Ori when they're held prisoner by Thranduil. [G]

* * *

**Gen and Other**

★. [Gen](http://archiveofourown.org/works/613514/chapters/1119549). Bilbo sings a Hobbit drinking song. [G]

★. [Gen](http://archiveofourown.org/works/613514/chapters/1106424). Deaging fic - Bilbo has to babysit. [G]

★. [Gen](http://archiveofourown.org/works/650299/chapters/1235556). Bofur reflects on how Bifur is not the dwarf he once was. TW for past child abuse. [T]

★. [Dwalin / Fíli](http://archiveofourown.org/works/613514/chapters/1183261). Fíli seduces Dwalin. [E]

★. [Fíli / Kíli](http://archiveofourown.org/works/613514/chapters/1106320). Fíli is overprotective. [T]

★. [Fíli / Kíli](http://archiveofourown.org/works/613514/chapters/1106735). Fíli likes it when Kíli cries. [T]

★. [Gloín / Bombur](http://archiveofourown.org/works/650299/chapters/1187156). Kind of! They remind each other of their respective wives. [G] 


	2. Bilbo/Thorin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for [the following prompt](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/1990.html?thread=999622#t999622): Bilbo, Thorin. A cock-ring. Go bonkers, anon filler.

Bilbo considered himself a knowledgeable sort of a chap. He preferred his books and his encyclopedias to the gossip about the Merryweather sisters, and even as a lad knew more about the world outside the Shire than all save the oldest and most eccentric hobbits.  
  
Now, well now, he had seen the things that had hitherto been but passages in his beloved books. He had supped with the great Lord of Rivendell, and almost become supper for a trio of dimwitted mountain trolls. He had carried sword into battle, and traded riddles with a creature he was sure not even the most learned men had a name for.  
  
It was rather unfair of Thorin, then, to laugh at him for not recognising the purpose of this one small object.  
  
"I mean no offense," Thorin said when Bilbo would have left, pride bristling, and laid a hand on the hobbit's arm so that he could do nothing but remain in the warm cocoon of bedclothes.  
  
For, seemingly not content with adventuring fit to keep hobbit lads and lasses entertained with fireside tales 'til the end of his days, Bilbo was currently in the midst of a story he knew he could never repeat.  
  
Because it was all but unheard of in the Shire. Simply wasn't proper. But here, on the road, with all about danger and hardship, it was harder to remember why he so feared the disapproving look on the faces of Mother Brownlock and old Gaffer Gamgee.  
  
Thorin tipped his chin up with gentle fingers to chase such thoughts away, kissed him with a tenderness Bilbo would never have believed a dwarf capable of, had he not had first hand experience of it.   
  
"There is no better way to learn," Thorin murmured, "than by practical demonstration."  
  
Bilbo had heard the same sentiment from the other dwarves, had listened to tales of skills and trades passed from father and son by doing rather than watching. None of this had in any way prepared him for the enflaming touch of Thorin's hands against his skin, working his clothing free until Thorin could wrap a hand around him, Bilbo helpless to do anything but push into his grip, and kiss back as his mouth was plundered.  
  
He was soon gasping for breath, everything at once too much and not enough, and when he succeeded in freeing his arms he clutched at Thorin's back, desperate for his climax, desperate for the other man to finish what he had started. The kiss was broken now, his head tipped back and his eyes clenched shut, his limbs quivering because he was so close, because he could prolong it no longer -  
  
It was at that moment that Thorin's hand left him and Bilbo whined, too far gone to be ashamed or embarrassed, and his relief at its return was so great that it was a long moment before he realised what had happened, and that the strap Thorin had presented him with earlier was now fitted tightly around him.

"Perhaps you have some inkling of its purpose now," Thorin said, and though the words were light with humour, the dwarf's cheeks were flushed, and his gaze was dark and intent, so that Bilbo felt sure it all should have been over - were it not for the strap's intervention.  
  
Feeling freed of his usual tendency to hesitancy, Bilbo surged forward, reaching out with his own hand as they kissed, until Thorin pushed him away, firm but gentle, and whispered in his ear that there was the fire of a warrior in his belly, after all. The words pleased him even as the tone made him need, his fingers clenching and unclenching in the blankets as Thorin's beard scratched against his over sensitised skin, as his moist breath against his cock made the wanting almost unbearable.  
  
And then Thorin's mouth was upon him and, dimly, Bilbo was aware of the sound of his own voice, though it was barely recognisable - rough pleas for Thorin to help him, to do something.  
  
Thorin was stroking one calming hand down the outside of his thigh, even as Bilbo could feel the other moving roughly between them. The knowledge that his presence was enough to make Thorin touch himself so stoked the flames of his passion still higher, stripping him of the remnants of his self-control so that Thorin had to pin his wrists down to prevent him taking matters into his own hands.  
  
Just as he was certain he could take no more, Thorin finally took pity on him, finally loosened the strap so that Bilbo near sobbed with relief, touched himself blindly and spasmed with the force of it, the sound of Thorin gasping mingling with the sounds he couldn't bite back until the other man's lips captured his own.   
  
When he came back to himself, Thorin had pulled him close into his embrace, one hand rubbing circles against his back, soothing.  
  
"That was - " Bilbo tried, trying and failing to find the words, settling instead for nodding, his cheeks flushing in memory.  
  
"There is still much for you to learn," Thorin said, and then smiled at him, expression fonder than any Bilbo had yet seen grace the dwarf King's features. "And I still have much to teach you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	3. Fíli is overprotective.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for [the prompt](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/1990.html?thread=1383622#t1383622): Fili/Kili. I just want someone (NOT one of the dwarves in the company) to make an unwanted pass/be aggressively insistent towards one of the brothers (don't care which one) and the other brother is fucking pissed/protective. Maybe it happens in Ered Luin, or maybe they're on their way to Bilbo's, or maybe something happens in Mirkwood (a lecherous elf perhaps?) or whatever. DO NOT CARE. Just want someone being like "You're pretty, you're coming to bed with me" and the other brother being like "Hell to the no. I will fucking kill you with my bare hands."

By dwarven standards Kíli was not a prize catch. His features were too dainty, and his build too slender. Only the previous summer, when they had supped with a travelling dwarf blacksmith and his daughter, she had smiled benignly at the interest in Kíli's eyes, and told him that he ought to try again in a few years, when his beard had grown longer.

By the standards of men, however, Fíli understood that his younger brother was considered attractive, handsome even, in spite of the differences between their two races.

It was for this reason Fíli attempted to warn Kíli of the dangers of making too merry, at least in the company of strangers.

"I am not a child, brother," Kíli told him after one such warning, frustration laced throughout the words, though they were spoken with a smile. "Nor am I a maiden in need of your protection."

Fíli, for once, had no quick response, and the unwanted truth of the situation kept him silent and thoughtful, long after Kíli had left their cottage for the evening. He felt unsettled, and not even his pipe was enough to shake away the melancholy. For he had long been aware that he was far more protective of Kíli than, by rights, he ought. That he wanted to cling to his brother, too tight and too close, and that he worried too much, and not for the right reasons.

It had grown late by the time he decided he could take the introspection no longer, and he left in search of strong pipeweed, and stronger ale. Anything that would help him forget his troubles.

The tavern was busy when he arrived, its occupants loud and boisterous, Kíli laughing, and singing, and telling raucous tales in the middle of it. Fíli watched from the sidelines for a long while, draining his mug though he knew he ought to simply return home and let a good night's sleep work its wonders.

He was about to leave, to take his own advice, when he sensed that his brother's position had grown precarious. Kíli had moved to a corner by this time, where he had been charming a pair of unshaven men who were clearly on the road, and would likely be leaving on the morrow.

The conversation and the drink had been flowing to this point, and Fíli had contented himself to watch and brood from a distance, mindful of their earlier spat, and his renewed pledge to allow Kíli to find his own way. That his brother might make his own mistakes. That he might be freed of his own unnatural attachment.

But now the conversation had ceased, and one of the men was leaning in menacingly, face twisted into a sneer even as Kíli put his hands out, appeasingly.

Fíli had moved before he had even thought about doing so, pushing singlemindedly through the crowd until he was close enough to hear one of the pair hiss, "It was not a request, dwarf. It matters not to me whether you are willing or unwilling." His companion smirked, so that Fíli all but lost himself to instinctive anger, and added, "You've a pretty mouth. It would be a shame not to make use of it."

"That is my brother you're talking to," Fíli spoke then, voice low and clipped, and the two men turned to look first at him, and then at each other, before bursting into laughter.

"What of it, dwarf?" The larger of the men asked, and Fíli was well aware of the way they took in his height, and the braids he was still boyishly proud of. "I have heard that the dwarves have few women, but I did not know they made a habit of lying with kinsmen!"

The other man laughed heartily, Kíli's eyes merely grew wide, startled, at the implication.

Perhaps if it had not hit so close to the bone he could have stayed his temper, perhaps the insult already received was too great for that to be possible. Either way, one moment he was simply stood, dumbstruck, the next he had launched himself at them, like a warrior going into battle. His fist connected again and again, and he heard the crunch of a nose breaking before registering the hands on his arms, attempting to pull him back and away from his would be assailants.

"It's alright," Kíli said, grip tightening. "Leave it, I'm alright. Leave it now."

Fíli came back to himself slowly, to find every eye upon him, and the two men battered and bloodied. Kíli was the one to lead him away from the scene, his limbs numb though his heart was racing. And it was Kíli who tended to his injuries when their door had shut behind them, dabbing gently at the blood on his forehead, and carefully binding his right hand for, though he had not noticed, his knuckles were bloodied and swollen.

"In future, perhaps I ought to listen more carefully," Kíli said, quietly, and Fíli had to look away, nerves fraught at the strange look in his brother's eyes, afraid that the statement might hold double meaning.

Fíli shook his head, gaze still fixed intently on the far wall. "You are old enough to make your own decisions."

The silence stretched for a long moment, long enough for Fíli to be sure that all was lost, perhaps never to be recovered. And then, all in a rush, Kíli's hand was on his arm, and his lips were pressed against his temple, so brief that Fíli would have been sure he had dreamed it, were it not for the softly spoken,

"It's late. Come to bed, brother."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	4. Bilbo has to babysit.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for [the prompt](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/1990.html?thread=1276614#t1276614): At some point during their journey, something goes horribly awry, and all of the dwarves are turned into young children (the human equivalent of like 3 or 4 years old, maybe?). Gandalf's attempts to change them back aren't working so he must leave Bilbo to watch after the rambunctious, whiny dwarf children while he goes off to find the answer. Chaos ensues. Bonus points if all the dwarf children already have full beards (come on, you know they're born with them...), and they're constantly pulling each other's beards when they bicker. The crackier, the better!

"No, no." Bilbo shook his head. "Absolutely not, it's quite out of the question."  
  
Gandalf simply looked at him from under his bushy eyesbrows, pipe in one hand as if this whole situation hadn't been entirely the wizard's fault to begin with.  
  
"No," Bilbo said again, and folded his arms across his chest for good measure. "I'm afraid you will just have to find someone else to take part in this mad scheme of yours."  
  
"There is no one else," Gandalf said, tone serious. When it had no effect the old wizard tried a different approach, tone lightening as he said, "As I recall you were always very good with children. Why, one year I seem to remember half the infants of Hobbiton hanging off your every word."  
  
Bilbo frowned and crossed his arms a little tighter in the hope that it was a signal of his resolve on the issue. He remembered the year in question very well; it had all started with a boyish prank, and had ended with Camellia Sackville-Baggins announcing that if he insisted on acting in childish ways, then they could arrange for him to spend the day minding the little ones so he might better refresh his memory.   
  
He had no desire to repeat the experience.  
  
"Now listen here," Bilbo began, in the authoritative tone his mother had used to use when he had trodden mud all through their hobbit hole for the second time in as many hours, "I'm not - "  
  
Whatever he wasn't was destined to be lost to the mists of time, for at that moment Gandalf took his pipe from his mouth and said,  
  
"Ah, here they are now."  
  
And then, all at once, the door was open and there was a rush of booted feet, and sticky hands, and matted beards. Bilbo clambered atop his chair and then panicked, marooned as he was on an island of maturity while all about him dwarven children ran, and prodded, and bickered.   
  
"Gandalf!" He cried, and he was not ashamed of the way the pitch rose violently. He would sooner take on Azog than the task he appeared to have been lumbered with.  
  
Gandalf was backing away, moving inexorably towards the door, and paused on the threshold only to shout above the growing din,  
  
"The spell should wear off in an hour. Perhaps three. Then they will all become adults again."  
  
Bilbo would have followed the wizard, would have given him a piece of mind. But in front of his chair Dwalin had just pulled Balin's beard, causing his brother to start wailing and Bilbo thought better of it, clinging instead to the back of the chair.  
  
He'd be having stern words when this was over though.  
  
Very stern words, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	5. Fíli likes it when Kíli cries.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for [the prompt](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/1990.html?thread=1302214#t1302214): Fíli / Kíli. The others like to make Kili cry because his face is so beautiful with those big fat drops of tears falling from his eyes. Fili especially loves it because he knows Kili will always come to him, will cling to his big brother, bury his face in Fili's chest and weep. Maybe Kili tries to stifle his sobbing? Everyone kind of feels guilty but Kili is so pretty they just can't help themselves.

Fíli was raised on tales of kings, and warriors, and valour, and by the time Kíli came along he already wanted nothing more than to live up to the stories, and perform countless heroic acts of bravery.  
  
It was difficult though, when his mother was more intent on him washing, and learning, and chewing his food properly. Sometimes it had seemed as though he would never get to do anything valiant at all.   
  
And then Kíli came to him one night, sobbing, because he had been called names by the other boys, and Fíli recognised that this was his chance. He comforted his brother, and stood up for him, and the only thing better than the pride on his mother's face was the gratitude in his brother's eyes.   
  
It grew from there, became a burning desire for Kíli to need him more than anyone else. To be the one to comfort him, even if he could not personally fight all of his brother's battles.   
  
Perhaps the sickness had already been sown, perhaps something that was honest and noble simply became defiled and twisted. But by the time Fíli was beginning to approach maturity he knew that there was something not right in the way he thought of his brother. That the way he yearned for Kíli to come to him, so he might pet him, and comfort him, was not normal.   
  
He tried to free himself of it, wanted so desperately to be free of feelings he knew could only be condemned by their kinsmen as unnatural. Yet the harder tried, it seemed the more fervently he desired, and one night Kíli came to him, eyelashes glittering with tears, and whispered apologies for whatever it was he had done, and begged Fíli to forgive him, and to once more spend time with him.  
  
Guilt and fear had warred in his breast, but when he finally pulled Kíli into his embrace Fíli knew that he was lost, and that he had never had a hope of finding a cure, not really.  
  
It had happened naturally, for all that it might be a gross mockery of the word, and as Kíli had clung to him, breath still hitching, Fíli had been unable to stop himself from pressing kisses into his hairline, then to his temple, and his cheek, and his jaw. Finally, when Kíli had made no move to pull away, to denounce him as they both knew he ought, Fíli pressed their lips together.  
  
Kíli had responded in kind, touching and tasting until they were both needy and breathless. He took charge, took his time, wrung noises from his brother he called upon on dark, lonely nights, when there was no one around who cared enough to judge him.  
  
They didn't speak of it in the morning, nor for many months afterwards. But no secret can be kept for eternity, and it was the anniversary of their father's death when Kíli came to him once more, cheeks wet with tears.  
  
"Why do I want this?" Kíli asked him, face buried in the fabric of Fíli's shirt. "What's wrong with me?"  
  
Fíli felt the familiar flush of shame, even alongside the familiar flush of arousal. For Kíli was so very beautiful when he cried, like the purest, most brilliant, gemstone.  
  
"It's my fault," Fíli eventually whispered in response. "I have done this to us."  
  
Kíli shook his head where it still lay against his chest, and clung to him still tighter. Moved so that he could press his lips to the skin of Fíli's neck, grazing again and again until Fíli was shivering.  
  
"If I love you," Kíli said, breath hot and damp against his kin, "and you love me, then it can't truly be wrong. Can it?"  
  
Fíli said nothing, but he didn't push his brother away, didn't do the heroic thing and force distance between them. Because life wasn't like the tales in story books.   
  
Life wasn't that simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	6. Bilbo/Bofur, courtship.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for [the prompt](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/702.html?thread=1214#t1214%20): Bilbo/Bofur. Because there was some chemistry there, you know?

Of all the dwarves in their company, Bilbo thought he liked Bofur the best.

For though both Fíli and Kíli were merry souls, and Bombur valued a good elvenses as well as any hobbit, there was a certain gentleness about Bofur that Bilbo found absent in the other dwarves, even Balin.

When the road was long and heavy going Bofur would hang back and tell him tales of his own travels, and of his work, and of his boyhood, growing up with Bombur.

"The prettiest lasses always wanted to dance with him, of course," Bofur said, one morning when Bilbo was feeling especially dispirited, longing for home, and hearth, and his soft, fluffy pillows. "He had fine braids, even then, and none of them could resist. Mother had to break up many a fight over him."

Bilbo couldn't bite back the sudden laugh at the image - though he regretted it instantly, worried that perhaps the tale wasn't meant to be funny. To his relief Bofur was smiling back at him, cheeks dimpled, and when Bilbo went to thank him Bofur said,

"You know, remembering that I'm not feeling at all sympathetic towards him. Catch!"

Bilbo held his hands out instinctively, and caught an apple rosy enough to make his mouth water.

"I'm getting my own back," Bofur explained merrily. "You can have his share of my elevenses."

He would have to find some way to make it up to Bofur, later, but for now Bilbo crunched into his apple happily. He was feeling much better.

* * *

A few nights later Thorin bid them camp at a leafy glade, not too far from water both deep and clear enough for bathing.

Bilbo hesitated at first because, Took blood or no, his boating days were long behind him. But his hair was greasy, and his skin was grimy, and the prospect of feeling clean was enticing enough for him to finally slip into the cool water, once the dwarves had begun making their way back towards the campsite.

It was dark and growing cold when he emerged from the water, and he was glad to find Bofur a short distance from the bank, the dwarf's cheeks dimpling as he smiled and said, "Didn't want you losing your way in the dark."

Bilbo gave Bofur a stern look but said nothing. Like as not he _would_ have gotten lost, left to his own devices.

Instead, Bilbo took in the dwarf's appearance, curious for this was the first time he had seen Bofur without his hair in braids. Now it lay damply against his shoulders and, before he could think better of it, Bilbo asked,

"Does it take long? To braid your hair, I mean?"

He had no sister, and his mother had worn her hair short - braiding was something of a mystery to him.

Bofur smiled, surprised, and said in response, "I could teach you." His tone grew softer, gaze falling to the path in front of them, "If you wanted me to."

The dwarf sounded hopeful, almost, and Bilbo thought of the apple, and the alternative of wishing for his bed, fruitlessly, so nodded his acquiescence. He soon found himself sat in front of the fire, painfully aware of the gazes of the other dwarves as he made a hash of taming the right half of Bofur's hair into something resembling the neatly braided left half.

"I'm not pulling am I?" Bilbo asked as he unravelled his latest attempt. "I don't want to hurt you."

There were stifled giggles behind him, from Fíli and Kíli no doubt, and in the firelight it looked as though Bofur's cheeks were flushed red. They weren't, of course, and Bofur helped him this time, practiced fingers guiding his own until, finally, he had made a passable job of it.

"You ought to put a braid in his hair now," Kíli called, inciting snorts of laughter from more than just his brother. Bilbo held his chin up and, just to play them at their own nonsense, let Bofur work a small braid just behind his ear.

Bofur's fingers lingered, for just a moment, and then it was time for supper, and then for bed, and Bilbo let his own fingers run across the braid before settling into his bedroll.

He was going to leave it be for a day or two, he decided. No matter what silly comments the others might make about it.

* * *

"I see congratulations are in order, Master Baggins," Gandalf said as they readied themselves for the road the following morning.

Bilbo looked about himself in confusion. He was still sleeping on the floor, and he had breakfasted on leftovers rather than fresh bread, jam, and tea. He couldn't see anything to be congratulatory about.

Gandalf puffed at his pipe and gave him a searching look, but said no more, leaving Bilbo to finish packing his bedroll.

They had barely set off when Bofur sought him out, and the dwarf didn't stray far from him for the rest of the day, for which Bilbo was gladder than he could say. He had been feeling out of sorts since Gandalf's strange greeting, and the day looked set to be a long one. Bofur sat beside him when they halted for dinner, and when they set up camp for the night Bofur helped Bilbo battle with the clasps of his bag, and arranged their things so that they should be near each other.

Bilbo smiled at him in thanks, and Bofur reached out, Bilbo's confusion lifting as he tucked the braid back behind his ear. His fingers brushed against the tip of his ear, making Bilbo shiver, and the hobbit stood abruptly to hide the reaction, and the heat in his cheeks, though he was certain the others had noticed because they kept casting amused glances in their direction.

"I'm sure the little thief is capable of fetching his own bowl," Bombur chuckled as he dished out their evening meal, and when Bofur settled beside him as they sat around the campfire Kíli grinned widely and said,

"Do you want to tell us all about your feather bed now, Master Baggins?"

A number of their company choked back laughter at the comment, and Bilbo glared around at all of them. He had refrained from mentioning his bed, or Bag End, for three days now, at least.

"Bofur's not used to such things," Bombur translated for Bifur, and this time the others roared. Bilbo glared harder, for being the butt of a joke he couldn't understand was no laughing matter. Bofur was not laughing either, which was some small comfort.

"I don't think it's very funny," he said, finally, in the same tone he might use with the young Gamgee sisters when they accompanied their mother to collect his laundry.

The dwarves would have laughed more, he was sure of it, but Gandalf sat forward, making his presence known.

"It would be as well to speak of other things," he said, brows drawn significantly and, though Kíli and Fíli exchanged confused looks, no more was said on the subject for the remainder of the evening.

* * *

Bilbo reflected later that things might have continued on in the same fashion, if not indefinitely, then for many more days, or even weeks.

As it was, Bilbo felt the familiar tingle of nerves the next evening, when Thorin summoned him forth for a private conversation.

"At times," Thorin began, "I believe I underestimate you."

Bilbo inclined his head, puffed his chest out and made to thank the dwarven king -

"And then," Thorin continued, "at others I am sure you are as stupid as I first imagined you."

Bilbo gaped, then frowned with all the indignant pride a hobbit could muster. "Now, just a minute - "

Thorin cut him off for a second time. "Do you truly not understand its significance?"

It was not difficult to work out Thorin's meaning, not with the way he was glaring at the side of his head, where Bilbo knew the braid Bofur had given him was just visible behind the point of his ear.

"I'm afraid dwarvish hair styling is not much discussed in the Shire," he said, and the insult made his words bolder than they otherwise might have been.

Thorin simply fixed Bilbo with a look which made him squirm. "To let another weave a courtship braid in one's hair is tantamount to a marriage proposal."

"I'm sorry, a _what_ braid?" Bilbo asked, panic rising.

There was no answer. Thorin had already dismissed him.

* * *

Bilbo made his way back to the camp in a daze.

He had never been a marrying sort of hobbit like most of the lads his age. He didn't dream of the glint of sun off shiny curls, or a smial full of rosy cheeked children. Nor did he stare too long at the serving lasses at the Green Dragon, or get up to the kind of mischief Mother Brownlock had warned them all as tweenagers would only get a young hobbit a bad reputation.

And yet.

The love tales on his bookshelves were well thumbed and, at night, when he ought to be sleeping soundly, he thought long and hard on the subject, until either his heart ached or his breathing grew loud and irregular.

Bofur had moved his bedroll when he returned, so that he was sandwiched instead between Oin and Gloin, and Bilbo's stomach twisted with feeling. But nobody asked what Thorin had wanted him for, nor did anyone so much as mention the braid in his hair, or the fact that Bofur was so obviously avoiding him.

He tried to get some sleep when they all retired for the night, twisting first this way and then that as he attempted to free his mind of Thorin's revelation. If Bofur did not want to speak of it then why should it not simply be forgotten? An honest mistake made and rectified, no more than that.

Except Bilbo could get no rest, his mind full instead of the way Bofur's cheeks dimpled when he smiled, and the way his own heart had ached, back in the Misty Mountains, when Bofur had told him that he belonged nowhere.

Eventually Bilbo gave up on sleep and crawled out from under his blankets, walking aimlessly before sitting beside the fire, staring at but not seeing the burning embers. He was so lost to the world that he jumped when somebody came to sit next to him,

"It seems I am not the only one sleep is alluding this night," Bofur said softly, and there was a wistfulness about him that spoke to some answering yearning in Bilbo.

"In the Shire," Bilbo began, though his mouth was suddenly dry, "courtship is a lengthy process."

Bofur kept his gaze on the fire. "As it is for dwarves," he said. "It would have been considered incredibly forward of me, even had I known you far longer. Please accept my apologies."

They sat in silence for a long moment, Bofur still staring intently at the fire, and Bilbo taking heed of this new information. He noticed, for the first time, the straggling daisies scattered in the grass around his feet.

An idea came to him. 

* * *

 "What have you done to yourself?" Kíli exclaimed as the company set about readying themselves for the day ahead.

"He has gone mad," Bombur laughed, taking in his brother's appearance. Bifur nodded in agreement.

"I believe it's a hobbit custom," Gandalf said then, calmly repacking his pipe. "To wind flowers through the hair of your intended. Rather charming idea, really."

Balin shook his head, though his eyes twinkled, and Ori simply looked on, wide-eyed.

A few paces away Bilbo smiled up at Bofur, shyly, and the dwarf beamed back, cheeks dimpled.

"You're sure about this?" Bofur asked, for his ears alone before they resumed their trek. Bilbo nodded, heartened by the other's concern, and let his fingers wander the length of one braid before standing tall.

"Positive."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some awesome art by kayisdreaming based on this over on Tumblr [HERE](http://kayisdreaming.tumblr.com/post/40742154950/im-sorry-that-im-not-sorry-but-ive-been-bored%0A). And some more by dr-kara [HERE](http://dr-kara.tumblr.com/post/40219625191/oxo-3-edit-forgot-the-link).: (If those links aren't working try HERE and [HERE](https://i.imgur.com/cvEq3JC.jpg).)
> 
> <333
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	7. Bilbo/Bofur, Bilbo gets himself hurt, Bofur patches him back up again.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for [the prompt](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/702.html?thread=114878#t114878): Bilbo/Bofur, H/C. Bilbo gets hurt and tries to hide it, Bofur sees right through it and begins to mother hen Bilbo. Bonus for the other dwarves seeing Bofur going into caring mode and realize the secondary intentions behind it. Double bonus for Bilbo taking a while before realizing why Bofur cares so much.

"I'm fine," Bilbo said in response to Dwalin's raised eyebrow, leaning more heavily against the tree and biting back a wince. "It's just a stitch."

Dwalin turned away with a disapproving look, satisfied, and Bilbo forced himself to push away from the tree and rejoin the track. In truth, the pain was excruciating, and when his hand stole just under the fabric of his shirt, his fingers came away bloody.

It was but a scratch though, that was what the dwarves would say, and Bilbo was heartily sick of being their primary object of amusement. For he was a gentlehobbit, not a warrior, though this was the first time in his life he had reason to be sorry for it.

The attack had broken upon them suddenly, and the others had swung their swords with ease, while Bilbo set about panicking, and hiding, and still took a glancing blow for his troubles. Were the others to discover the fact he would likely be mocked all over again, and Thorin would tell him, not for the first time, that it would have been better had he not joined their Company in the first place.

By the time they halted for nourishment, Bilbo's resolve was wavering.

Bombur hastily dug provisions from his pack and set about eating, while the other dwarves fiddled with their pipes and drank heavily from their hip flasks. Bilbo sank unsteadily to sit on the ground, and let his eyes fall shut so that he might try and forget the pain, if only for a moment.

"You can't be ready for sleep yet!" Kíli laughed when he noticed, and Fíli nodded in agreement, adding,

"We've a long way to go before we make camp tonight, Master Baggins."

Bilbo gave a curt nod in acknowledgment and wished longingly for his own hobbit hole. For his soft bed, and his clean sheets, and the merry whistling of his tea kettle.

It couldn't have gone unnoticed because Bofur approached him just as they were making to leave, and he had succeeded in pulling himself, albeit slowly, to his feet again.

"Are you sure you're alright, lad?" Bofur asked, quietly so that the others might not hear them, and Bilbo warred with himself for a long moment. Bofur's expression was so kind - of all the dwarves in their Company Bilbo thought Bofur the kindliest - and there had been genuine concern in his question. But then Thorin called for them to hurry themselves, and Bilbo nodded in decision.

"There's nothing wrong, Master Bofur," he said with what he hoped wasn't a pained smile. "I am just a little weary, it is of no matter."

As the afternoon wore on into the early evening the weather took a violent turn for the worse.

Rain poured from the sky and, distantly, they could hear the roll of thunder. Thorin decreed that they continue in spite of the deluge, for there was little shelter to be found in any case. Some of the dwarves grumbled, but all acquiesced, and Bilbo concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, though he felt increasingly faint, and when he slipped slightly, in the mud, black spots danced across his vision.

He was going to have to rest, he thought. He could not continue for much longer.

And then, suddenly, a flash of lightening streaked through the darkened sky and Bilbo stumbled on a stone. He heard a cry, and felt a sharp, searing pain, and then there was nothing but blessed darkness.

* * *

When Bilbo came to, he found himself lying on his back, bundled thickly in furs and blankets.

Bofur was looking down at him, face pale with worry.

"What -" Bilbo tried, weakly, and Bofur's face broke into such a relieved smile that Bilbo felt quite flattered to be the recipient of it.

"You gave us all quite a scare back there, Master Baggins," Bofur said, even as he carefully helped him to sit, and to sip a little water. "You ought to have told us, the wound might have become infected!"

At this last Bilbo shifted, experimentally, and found that the wound in question had been washed and dressed, and that his bloodied shirt had been torn for bandages, a finespun dwarven tunic replacing it.

Bilbo sighed, he had thought to prove himself by remaining quiet, and making the pain his own burden. All he had accomplished was making himself more of a nuisance. Thorin was likely angry that they had lost time, and it looked as though poor Bofur had had to sacrifice his bedding and his spare clothing.

"I'm sorry," he said, softly, because though the sentiment was genuine he did not wish to attract the attention of the others, whose voices he could hear from someplace over Bofur's shoulder.

Bofur's features softened, and the dwarf pushed Bilbo's hair back from his forehead, a comforting gesture which reminded Bilbo of his mother.

"You needn't apologise," Bofur said, and though Bilbo wished to say more the pull of sleep was too strong, and he was unable to keep his eyes open.

* * *

"You always were soft in the head," Bombur said, though the words were tinged with fondness. "It's a fine pickle you've found yourself in this time."

"I am not expecting anything," Bofur said in turn, his tone wistful. "I am not a lad now, brother."

Bilbo lay quietly, listening to the exchange. Whatever Bofur's trouble was, he wanted to help with it. He wasn't so bad at it, offering advice, at least that was what his cousins had used to say. He would certainly do his best for Bofur, after all the kindness the dwarf had shown him.

These were his thoughts as he moved carefully, letting the dwarves know that he was no longer sleeping.

"You're awake!" Bofur said, smiling wide enough for his cheeks to dimple.

Bombur shook his head as he stood, and pressed a hand to his brother's shoulder. "You are not as worldly as you would have yourself believe," he said, and then wandered away, no doubt intent on ensuring there were to be no wasted leftovers.

"How are you feeling?" Bofur asked, and fussed about him in a way more reminiscent by far of a hobbit matriarch than an axe wielding dwarf.

Bilbo assured him he was feeling much better, ate the food he was given, and listened to the pared down tale of how he had nearly slid down the hill they had been climbing, and how Bofur had caught hold of him in the nick of time, and carried him onwards to the nearest shelter.

Bofur looked embarrassed when he finished speaking, perhaps afeared that Bilbo might think him to be boasting (a terrible vanity, so Mother Brownlock had always said). In reassurance, Bilbo took Bofur's hand, and thanked him, and subtly tried to get Bofur to speak to him of his own worries, to no avail.

Their bedrolls were laid close together, so that Bofur might keep an eye on him, he said, yet when they settled down to sleep it was Bilbo who watched Bofur. He studied the way he relaxed in slumber, expression peaceful, and committed to memory the way his hair framed his face, so that when sleep did claim him, his dreams were all of braids and dimples.

* * *

Over the next few days Bofur worried after him like a mother hen.

Thorin had bid that he ride the pony while the wound healed somewhat, lest he tear it open again and cause more of a holdup. More often than not Bofur would walk beside him, and tell him stories about dwarvish history, and tales of the things he had seen on his travels as a toymaker.

It was during these conversations that Bilbo came to suspect that it was a matter of the heart, the trouble Bofur had been discussing that night with Bombur. For Bofur sighed longingly when Gloin joined them to speak of the beautiful wife he had waiting at home for him, and his gaze grew unfocused when he told Bilbo an odd tale of a dwarvish princess who had fought a rival for a blacksmith's hand in marriage, and the pair had then gone on to live happily ever after.

By the time Bilbo was well enough to walk again Bofur seemed positively melancholic.

Bilbo sat beside him one night at supper and, while the others were laughing raucously at something Kíli had said, Bilbo dared to say, "You can tell me, you know. What it is that is bothering you."

Bofur stared back at him wide-eyed, and Bilbo felt strangely reluctant to speak the next line he had planned, though finally he forced himself to continue with, "If there is some lass waiting for you, I wouldn't mind hearing all about her."

Bofur snorted at that, softly, and turned his face back to the fire.

"No, there is no lass waiting for me."

* * *

The following morning Bilbo felt exhausted, for he had managed very little sleep.

He was certain he had offended Bofur, somehow. The dwarf had said nothing more to him all evening, and when Bilbo had finally given up on finding any rest he had gone to track down Bofur, who was on watch duty. But when he found him Bofur had been playing such a mournful tune on his flute that he had simply stood watching in the shadows, before returning to his bedroll and staring up at the stars until dawn broke.

There was nought but a few berries for breakfast, and as they began for the day Bilbo could think of nothing but Bofur, and the growling of his stomach.

If they were back in the Shire, he thought, he would cheer Bofur up in the hobbit way. He would bake him light, fluffy scones, served with the Shire's finest jam and clotted cream. He would save him the best cheese, and the rosiest apples, and they would both drink tea with honey on pleasant summer afternoons, sat on the bench in his flower garden.

Bilbo stopped dead, though he earned himself a sharp glare from Dwalin, who had been walking behind him.

If they were back in the Shire, he thought, panic rising, he would be attempting to woo Bofur.

* * *

This new revelation was not so much unpleasant as it was unwelcome.

For Bofur was not a hobbit, and in all he had read and heard of dwarves, Bilbo had never once had reason to suspect that a dwarf might be prepared to devote the rest of his days to a halfling.

Bilbo understood, he supposed, for it would be a strange thing in the Shire too, to see a hobbit and a dwarf set up home together. But Mother Brownlock had heard of a hobbit in Buckland who had married a human - shorter than most of their kin, though they were - and, well, Bilbo had already heard rumours that he was considered an eccentric sort of fellow.

He dwelled on the subject all day, and the next, and by the end of the week Bilbo was feeling quite despondent himself, because hobbits are well known to set their hearts fast and true, and to pine endlessly if the object of their affections is unable to return them.

Bofur noticed, of course, though Bilbo did his best to hide it from him, even with the huge amount of bittersweet time they spent together. And so it was that one night as they sat around the fire eating their meager rations Bofur settled beside him and asked,

"Does your wound still pain you?"

Bilbo shook his head. It had all but fully healed now, and he had thrown away the tattered remains of his shirt, forever conscious instead of Bofur's tunic against his skin. The thought made him sigh anew, that he should be able to have Bofur so close, and yet have nothing of him at all.

"Then perhaps I have offended you?" Bofur pressed, kind eyes anxious as the question settled between them.

Bilbo shook his head with fervour, startled. "You've shown me nothing but kindness."

At that Bofur seemed to come to a decision, and suggested that they walk a while to smoke and to talk. Bilbo's heart thumped with nerves, even as he bounced to his feet, eager to spend any time he could alone with Bofur.

The night was fairly mild, and Bilbo looked up at the stars as they walked a little away from the camp. They looked no different to the way they did in the Shire; it was a comforting thought, and made him wonder if what worked in one place could really endure in another.

He would never know unless he took a step toward finding out.

"There is something I have to tell you," Bilbo began, bracing himself as best he could for disappointment. Before Bofur could say a word Bilbo went on in a rush, "I know that there is another on your mind - someone more worthy than I, no doubt - but, but if you would give me a chance, it would be my honour to try and make you happy."

That last had been the proposal his father had given his mother, during a picnic in Little Delving, many moons ago. Bilbo hoped fervently that the words might bring him the same luck.

Bofur simply looked at him for a long moment, shock clear on his face so that Bilbo had to resist the urge to fidget or to run, even. And then - then - the dwarf's face was transformed with a brilliant smile, the like of which Bilbo had taken to thinking of when his legs felt as if they could carry him no further.

"You are as worthy a fellow as I have ever met," Bofur said, and Bilbo couldn't help but take a step closer. "Worthier even. You are kind," Bofur took a step closer himself, "and generous, and brave - "

Bilbo snorted at that, but Bofur silenced him with the touch of gentle fingers to his cheek.

"You _are_ brave," he insisted. "I brought you here tonight to tell you the truth of my own heart - for there is no other I hold so dear - and yet I was afeared. I would have held my tongue, and said nothing, and never known the happiness of holding you."

The prospect was too much for Bilbo, who let his own fingers tangle in Bofur's braids, and tug gently until he could press their lips together. It was sweet, and chaste, and made him ache, so that he had to kiss Bofur again, and again, and again, moaning when Bofur opened his mouth to him so Bilbo might slip his tongue inside.

It was hot, and wet, and slick, and Bilbo clung to Bofur, pressing against him until he felt desperate and frenzied.

Bofur was the one to bring him back to himself, recognising the twin footsteps of Kíli and Fíli in the distance, turning their kisses gentle once more, and letting his hand rub soothingly against his shoulder.

"What are you two up to?" Kíli asked with a grin as the brothers came into view, and Bilbo was sure he stood an inch taller with pride when Bofur linked their fingers together.

"Walking," Bofur answered, with a grin of his own, and together they walked back to camp, leaving the two brothers staring after them, incredulous.

That night Bofur pushed their bedrolls together, and wrapped an arm tight around him, making him feel warm and protected. He loved the Shire, Bilbo thought, just as sleep claimed him.

But he was glad he had chosen to go adventuring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	8. Bilbo/Bofur, Bilbo grows a beard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for [the prompt](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/1990.html?thread=901062#t901062): The dwarves catch Bilbo shaving and are mortified that he would do such a thing. They later convince him to grow an epic beard, for hobbit standards at least. Any pairing or just Gen.

At times it felt as though their quest would never end. Sat around the fire, his front too hot and his back too cold, stomach rumbling, with the itch of sweat and grime making it impossible to get comfortable. Well, that was definitely one of those times.

Bilbo rubbed at his tired eyes, and then at his stubbled jaw, pulling a face. What he wouldn't give for his neat little bathroom at Bag End, so he might make himself clean and presentable.

When he looked up it wasn't to see the homely comforts of his smial however, but the curious gaze of Bofur.

Ordinarily Bilbo would be heartened to be the centre of the dwarf's attention - more heartened than was strictly proper, if truth be told - but tonight he just felt tired and unsociable. He wanted Bofur to look upon him as a worthy companion, a friend, even. In this state he had no hope of accomplishing it.

Bofur, unaware of Bilbo's inner turmoil, simply shifted closer.

"Is that your first growth?"

Bilbo frowned, confused until the close scrutiny of Bofur's gaze helped him make sense of the situation.

"You mean this?" He asked, rubbing the palm of his hand against the uncomfortable scratch of facial hair. Bofur nodded his agreement and Bilbo shook his head, a tired laugh escaping in spite of himself. "I'm not a child; I could grow as fine a beard as any of you if I chose to."

This was more than a slight exaggeration, but the idea that he was a young lad in need of his first shave was amusing enough to make him forget his miserable mood, if only for a moment.

There was no burst of laughter. Instead Bofur studied him again, frowning.

"Do you mean to tell me you shave your whiskers?" Bofur asked finally, sounding faintly scandalised at the idea.

"It itches," Bilbo protested, indignant.

"But -" Bofur cut himself off, and it was only at Bilbo's urging that he finally finished the sentence. "What I meant to say was, what some would say is, well," the dwarf waved a hand, uncharacteristically flustered, "you would look right comely with a beard."

They were interrupted then, Kíli insistent that they listen to his latest tale, and it wasn't until Bilbo was safely bedded down for the night that he ran his hand over his jaw again, hyper aware that Bofur was lying only a few scant inches away from him.

He supposed he could try letting it grow just a little longer.

* * *

Two days later they finally had chance to bathe, and Bilbo had never been so glad to be near water as he was in that moment - and fancied he would never be so glad again.

He could have shaved, afterwards, for he still had his razor and a sliver of his shaving soap. But he thought of Bofur's words, and the nights when it had been so bitterly cold they had had to lay together under the same blankets, and instead he went to watch the dwarves braid their now damp hair and beards, wondering just what the significance of it all was.

Balin seemed happy to talk to him about the braiding, at least, unoccupied as he was with his own beard.

"It's about family ties, and status, and wealth, and, aye," he cast a knowing glance at Ori who had come to sit beside them, and who blushed instantly, "it's about attracting a lover. I see you crossed over with the right first today, young Ori."

Ori went redder still, and Bilbo frowned, wanting to be sure he understood it.

"So, Kíli then, he is too young to worry about it?"

He had heard the others say that the brothers were Thorin's nephews, and that their mother had been reluctant to allow them to accompany their uncle.

Ori made a noise that could have been laughter, stilted out of politeness.

"It's a sore point for the lad," Balin told him quietly, with a sad shake of his head. "His beard is still as fine and sparse as that of a young dwarfess."

Bilbo nodded, like this was somehow obvious, and let his fingers play once more against the rasp of stubble on his cheeks.

Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea, after all.

* * *

He was given no chance to do anything about it.

The ambush came upon them from nowhere, and once the threat had been subdued Thorin ordered that they march onwards, through the night, because their position was too dangerous.

When they were finally given chance to once more simply sit, and talk, without the burden of fear and exhaustion, Bilbo was suddenly all too aware that, by Shire standards, he was sporting whiskers as fine as those of any wizened Grandpappy.

Some of the dwarves were surreptitious in their interest, others, namely Kíli and Ori, were simply staring at him.

Bilbo did his best to concentrate singlemindedly on his food, keeping his gaze firmly on his bowl even when Bofur moved to sit beside him.

"You're quite the topic of conversation tonight, Master Baggins," Bofur said, and Bilbo pulled a face into his watery stew and reminded himself, firmly, that there was good reason why hobbit men habitually went clean shaven.

How was a hobbit to know when they might be commandeered by a wizard and a wandering band of dwarves to help smite a dragon?

"Yes," Bilbo answered at last, sharper than he had intended, "I'm sure my appearance is most amusing."

He guessed they were talking of how much he resembled some wilting dwarven lass, or else laughing at the way his hair kept falling in his face, now that it had been so long since he had had chance to visit Archie Twofoot's barbering shop.

"Amusing is not the word I would use," Bofur said in response, pitched for his ears alone. Bilbo looked up at him, a sudden thrill chasing through him at the intensity in the gaze looking back at him.

"No?" He asked, almost breathless, and, were it not for Dwalin clearing his throat and reminding him that it was his turn to help fetch firewood, Bilbo spent that night dreaming that Bofur would have found much more to say on the matter.

* * *

The following day dawned wet and miserable, and the weather only worsened as they marched on, so that Bilbo was wet through, and his hair hung about his face in straggling rat tails.

Fíli laughed at him, though it was good natured, when he slipped over in the mud, and Bofur had to reach an arm out to steady him, on more than one occasion.

Bilbo had never been more relieved than when Thorin decided they had traveled far enough for one day, and let them set up camp in a small cave network - after searching it thoroughly - for shelter.

He all but collapsed against one wall, struggling out of his sodden jacket and wringing the worst of the water from his hair. His spot was some way from the fire, and the food, and he was grateful when Bofur brought a hot bowl over to him, then sat and watched as he raked fingers through his still wet hair, attempting to tame it into some sort of order.

Bofur's voice sounded strange, or perhaps it was simply the acoustics in the cave, when he said,

"You must be right hungry; I can fix your hair for you."

It probably wasn't the smartest idea Bilbo had ever had. But he _was_ hungry, and his hair was irritating - damp, and cold, and refusing to stay where he wanted it.

And so he found himself sat close against the dwarf, his eyes closing in pleasure at the taste of hot food, and the feel of gentle fingers in his hair, working from scalp to tips and back again.

It was when those same fingers strayed to the whiskers he had so agonised over, first tentative, and then with growing confidence, that Bilbo knew he was really in trouble. His bowl was set down, forgotten, and he shivered when Bofur shifted still closer, hot breath against his ear as he leaned in to better inspect his handiwork. It was too much, Bilbo thought, more than he could endure.

They were in the shadows, somewhat, but they were by no means far enough away from the others to have any real privacy.

Bilbo found himself unable to care about it.

Instead he twisted around so he was facing Bofur, gratified the dwarf's breathing appeared to be just as shallow as his own. His mouth was pressed against Bofur's before he gave himself chance to think himself out of it and, when his fingers pushed into Bofur's hair, clutched at his braids, the dwarf made a low noise and kissed him back soundly.

Bofur drew him backwards, mindful of the others for both their sakes, and pushed Bilbo down against his bedroll. Bilbo fought frantically with his buttons and fastenings, blood feverish though Bofur remained too calm, and too self controlled, touching him softly, and refusing to rush things.

"Please," Bilbo gasped when Bofur lay atop him, bucking up when Bofur grinned and nipped the tip of his ear, seemingly knowing enough about hobbits to understand what it would do to him.

Bilbo felt the last of his tenuous control leave him entirely, his hands clutching desperately at Bofur's back before working between them. Bofur gasped this time, maneuvered his own hand to return the favour, and Bilbo let his head tip back, panting as the calloused pad of a thumb swiped across the sensitive head of his cock.

"It's been torment," Bofur told him, voice gratifyingly rough, "watching you from afar. Watching you grow this at my suggestion." Bofur's voice cracked at that last, and his grip tightened even as licked a heated stripe up the side of Bilbo's cheek, his limbs tensing as he breathed heavily into Bilbo's ear.

Bilbo made an unintelligable noise of his own in response, spilling over Bofur's fingers and collapsing into his embrace, forgetting everything for that moment but the two of them.

It was late when he next opened his eyes, and Bilbo was glad that Bofur had thought to pull the blankets close, now that a good dozen dwarves lay snoring around them. Bofur, sensing he was awake, pulled him closer, so that his back was pressed tight against Bofur's chest.

"You won't be able to walk around like this for too long," Bofur whispered in his ear, one hand lifting to caress the tightly weaved braids in his hair, and then the short hair of his beard. "You have already been driving more than me to distraction."

Bilbo caught Bofur's hand when he would have let it fall to his side again.

"You sound as though you're jealous, Master Bofur," Bilbo said, pleased, and Bofur pressed a chaste kiss to the juncture where his jaw met his ear and told him, seriously,

"Dwarves are not very good at sharing."

Bilbo beamed, then squirmed around so that they might face each other.

"It's alright," he said, and pressed a kiss to the corner of Bofur's mouth, grinning anew at the strange contrast of soft skin and rough whiskers. "Hobbits aren't very good at sharing some things, either."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	9. Bilbo/Bofur, Bofur worries about Bilbo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for [the prompt](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/702.html?thread=165054#t165054): Did anyone else notice how protective Bofur was during the film - he was the one who pulled Bilbo into the middle of the dwarves when Elrond's scouts starting circling, he was the first to try and pull Bilbo up, was concerned about where Bilbo was going when he tried to go home, etc. So I've got this headcannon where Bofur's first love died when smaug attacked. Because of this, he's really worried about losing Bilbo, but at the same time Bofur's a super sweet guy and he knows a lot of people see protectiveness as being controlling and he would hate to keep someone when they didn't want to be kept. So he keeps switching back and forth between trying to keep Bilbo safe, and trying to act totally normal so he doesn't scare Bilbo off. The problem is, Bofur's never been any good at deception and Bilbo catches on, but can't figure out why Bofur is so concerned.

Dwarves are said to be hardy and strong, stubborn and fearless.  
  
Bofur worries, often, that he is none of these things. He is not as brave as Bombur, and on the road he craves better food, and better ale, though he has nought to complain of, not really. Not when he looks at Bifur, and thinks on how much his cousin has had to suffer.  
  
He spends long nights, sometimes, laying awake and cataloguing all the things he could have done differently. All the ways in which he might have better protected his kin. Not only Bifur, but his mother too. If he had only been stronger, he thinks on those nights. If he had only been braver.  
  
This quest only serves to bring these thoughts to the fore, for it was at Erebor that so many had perished, just as his own mother, leaving him to try and do his best. To fend for both himself and for Bombur.  
  
"Are dragons very big?" Bilbo asks him one night, not long after the Company first leaves the Shire, though his delicate features are already pinched with exhaustion.  
  
Bofur smiles at him, though his heart fair aches at the sight, and tells him that he is not on this quest alone, and that he has the strength of thirteen dwarves and a wizard to protect him. Bilbo smiles back at him, grateful, and Bofur pledges to himself then and there that he will keep this hobbit safe, no matter his past failures.  
  
He stays as true to his word as he can, steadying the hobbit where he otherwise would have tripped, and pulling him close when the elves circle their party, determined that they should not harm him.  
  
Bombur notices, for they have as close a bond as any set of brothers, for all their well-meant taunting, and lays a hand on his shoulder one night when Bofur is too lost in watching the play of the firelight across the halfling's face.  
  
"He's no child," Bombur says, quietly. "You cannot shield him from everything."  
  
His brother is right, is more worldly than many give him credit for, and at the Misty Mountains he forces himself not to intervene, and not to beg Bilbo to stay, though he is near overcome with the urge to do so.  
  
"I wish you all the luck in the world. I really do," he says instead and, when they're free once more of goblins, and orcs, Bilbo sits beside him, hair glinting golden in the firelight as he says,  
  
"I wanted to thank you. For not trying to stop me back in the cave. I," his gaze meets Bofur's, "didn't get chance to say so before."  
  
Bofur grins in return, and jokes, and tells stories, but all the while he's too aware of the warmth in his breast, and the way his fingers itch to touch Bilbo.

The way his arms ache to embrace him.  
  
It grows harder to practice moderation in his efforts to keep Bilbo safe and happy. He shares his rations with Bilbo though it means he goes hungry, and he places his hat on Bilbo's head and tugs it down over his ears one night, when it's obvious from his violent shivering that the hobbit is never going to get any rest unless Bofur does something.  
  
The road grows ever harder, and Bofur takes to lightening Bilbo's load, though he tries his best to be discreet about it. Thorin questions him about it regardless, looks him over searchingly and tells him that it is his business, but he had just better see that it doesn't interfere with their goal to retake Erebor.  
  
Bofur can only nod, and promise that he will make every effort not to allow it to.  
  
Bilbo places a hand on his arm when he rejoins the others around the campfire, and says softly,  
  
"I know you've been shouldering a greater burden so that I might find the going a little easier." Bilbo squeezes the hand around his arm, waits until Bofur turns to look at him. "Why?"  
  
He could say anything, Bofur supposes. Spin a web of pretty words like an elfling, sugar coated lies designed to hide his every secret. But he's a dwarf, not an elf, and with Bilbo's earnest curiosity still fixed upon him Bofur says,  
  
"I have lost too many of the things I have held dear. I would not lose you as well, not if I could help it."  
  
He waits for the kindly words of rejection, for he knows Bilbo to be a gentle soul, who wouldn't wound him more than was necessary.  
  
To his surprise Bilbo takes his hand in his own, and looks up at him with an open smile.

"I had heard all dwarves to be distant and proud, greedy and cold-hearted. You have proved that wrong, so very wrong, and I must say that I am heartily glad of it."

Bofur lets his fingers explore the curls of Bilbo's hair, can scarcely dare to believe what he's hearing. "Dwarves are said to be many things," Bofur says at last, when Bilbo has shifted to lean against him, and wraps an arm around him as he had long wished to do.

To be true to oneself, he thinks, perhaps for the first time, is what being a dwarf is really all about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	10. Bilbo/Bofur, Bofur gets warned off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for [the prompt](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/1990.html?thread=1039046#t1039046): It only occurred to me today that Bofur has virtually no beard: he's got long sideburns, soul patch and long mustaches that look like they are there to cover his clean shaved face. Bofur gets close to Bilbo which doesn't sit well with some Dwarves. Bilbo is confused, Bofur is hurt. Some Dwarves even try to "warn" Bilbo and try to remind Bofur "his place" or accuse him of trying to use Bilbo's obliviousness. I'd rather if the weren't malicious about it though. Turns out Bofur did something shameful, must now always keep his beared shaved off and be Forever Alone (no Dwarf would want him). They think he's trying to get close to Bilbo since he's got no idea about Dearf customs and he's the only person that'd even CONSIDER Bofur for a partner. Can be shippy, splashy or gen, I just need Bofur angst.

"I ought to be part of it," Kíli said for roughly the fifteenth time since the meeting had been called. "I'm almost as old as Fíli, and just as mature as him."

Ori looked up at him at this, and would perhaps have spoken. The expression on Kíli's face made him think better of it, so that he ducked his head nervously and returned to his knitting.

Bilbo settled for wringing his hands together and straining his eyes once more, trying to pick out the rest of their Company in the distance.

It was his fault somehow, he was sure of it. For Thorin had glared right at him as he had demanded Bofur's presence, and Balin had given him a too kindly smile as they had left, as if to reassure him.

"I don't understand what he is supposed to have done," he tried again when the only sound continued to be the clack of Ori's knitting needles, though he had all but given up hope of coaxing an answer from the dwarves. They were a race for whom secret keeping was an art form.

Rather than answer Ori took one of his hands, and measured it against the glove he was finishing. It was something Bofur had suggested after noting the way Bilbo kept tugging at the cuffs of his sleeves. Now Bilbo smiled at Ori in thanks, for the warm wool would surely keep the biting cold of winter out.

With a sudden start Kíli threw down the wood he had been viciously whittling. Both Ori and Bilbo jumped at the movememt.

"You should take more care," Kíli told Ori, tone sharp with frustration. "Or they will have to call another assembly."

Ori scowled and dropped Bilbo's hand, eyes flashing with an anger Bilbo had not before seen from the young dwarf, except for in the heat of battle.

"No they wouldn't! I'm not a -"

Whatever he had been intending to say was lost, Ori cutting himself off abruptly at the sound of heavy footsteps returning. Kíli went straight to his brother. Ori retrieved his paper and quill, and spent the remainder of the evening in silence.

Bofur neglected to so much as glance in his direction. Instead he made directly for his pack, pulled his bedroll free and settled down to sleep, face turned away from the campfire.

Bilbo made to follow him, to ask him the questions the others refused to answer. Balin put a halting hand on his shoulder before he had chance.

"Leave him for now, laddie. You'd be doing him a kindness."

* * *

If Bofur were a hobbit, then Bilbo would have demanded answers the following morning. For the swollen and reddened eyes could only have meant that Bofur had spent the better part of the night crying.

But dwarves, Bilbo knew, did not cry. He had read it in an Elvish book, and the Elves made it their business to know everything.

So he had to satisfy himself with fussing over breakfast, and doing his best not to take it to heart when Bofur listlessly handed the specially prepared bowl to his brother.

He sought Bofur out once they took to the road, and told him a tale of Archie Twofoot which never failed to raise a chuckle back in the Shire. They were not in the Shire, and though Bofur gave him a smile, it was strained. He did not attempt to tell Bilbo any of his own stories.

Disheartened, Bilbo set to waiting, unsure of what else he could do. Bofur, he reasoned, was bound to speak to him about it eventually.

Except the days turned swiftly into a week and, even with Bofur's good spirits seemingly restored, he still avoided Bilbo, choosing to walk instead beside his brother and cousin.

It left Bilbo feeling confused and, though he did not like to admit it, wounded. Of all their Company Bofur was the only dwarf he had believed he could truly call a friend. They had spent long hours exchanging tales and riddles, and only the night before that strange meeting, Bofur had given Bilbo his own blankets before going on watch, and placed his hat on his head so his ears might not be cold.

The only conclusion Bilbo could come to was that he had caused some great offense - though he had not meant to! - and now Bofur did not wish to speak to him. He tried asking first Ori, and then Balin, suspecting them to be more sympathetic to his plight than the others.

Ori squirmed, obviously uncomfortable, and told him that Bofur was a jolly fellow, and that everybody liked him, and if it weren't for tradition then nobody should have had a word to say against it. What _it_ was, and what tradition had to do with it, Ori steadfastly refused to tell him. Balin was less forthcoming still, saying only,

"It's nothing for you to worry yourself about, Master Baggins."

If only he could find out what it was he had done, Bilbo thought, then he could begin to make amends for it.

* * *

The road continued to grow harder, even with the warmer weather, and their rations grew ever more meagre. They had left the open country behind and entered the forest of Mirkwood; Bilbo was not ashamed to admit that the darkness and the muffled noises frightened him.

At night they huddled closer together than had previously been their habit, and one night he found himself beside Bofur, quite through accident. Bilbo had made no progress in working out why the relationship between them had changed so suddenly and, though they now spoke again and shared jokes, the closeness there had once been was gone. It pained Bilbo bitterly.

He made his mind up to speak of it, to get the whole thing out in the open, but something flapped overhead, perhaps one of the hideous bats they had encountered. Bilbo reached for Bofur without thinking about it, clinging to the dwarf and breathing in great lungfuls of a scent he had had no idea he had missed so much.

"It's alright," Bofur said, voice quiet but tense, and patted at his back. "I won't let it harm you."

All of a sudden the burden was too much. He was tired, and dirty, and hungry. And thirsty, so thirsty that his mouth was always dry and it hurt to swallow. He was frightened, far from home, and lonely. So terribly lonely, in spite of the constant companionship.

He could not help it; a great sob broke from him, and he clung tighter to Bofur.

Bofur hesitated, just for a moment, and then strong arms wrapped around him. "Don't cry," Bofur pleaded. "I've got you."

Bilbo couldn't stop. He pressed his face into Bofur's chest and wept until he was exhausted, and the soft murmuring against his ear lulled him, finally, into a dreamless sleep.

He was still held tight in Bofur's embrace when he awoke, and he lay still until the dwarf stirred, enjoying the feeling, for once, of being safe and protected.

The others cast curious glances at him over their few crumbs of breakfast, but Bofur cast a bashful smile at him when they packed their things, so that Bilbo did not trouble himself too much about it. Balin looked as though he might have said something, but then Thorin spied a boat and, in all the commotion that followed, it was forgotten.

* * *

"We shall die here!" Ori cried, five days after they had found the boat, and Bombur had fallen into the enchanted water. "Surrounded by all this greenery, it's almost too awful to transcribe."

"We won't die," Kíli said, attempting to be comforting. He grinned, "If things become desperate we could always eat Bombur. There is plenty of him to go around!"

Bilbo looked to Bofur anxiously, even as Thorin scolded his nephew with a glare.

In fact a strange hush fell across all the dwarves, though what precisely made Kíli's joke so grave, Bilbo could not have said. He was about to cough, or clear his throat, or do _something_ to remind them all that he was still there when Bofur let out a cry.

"Bombur! You're alive!"

"Of course I'm alive," Bombur responded. "Though for the pain in my belly I might as well not be."

Bombur had forgotten, they soon learned. Everything after they had left Bag End was a blur to him, and Bilbo couldn't help but envy his position, dreaming of his cosy hobbit hole as the dwarves told him briefly of all that had since transpired.

"You mean to tell me there is no more food?" Bombur asked at last. "Why ever did I wake up!?" He dropped weakly to the ground at this last, and began to cry.

Thorin rose to his feet, incensed at the scene, and murmuring broke out throughout their number. Bilbo was oblivious to it all, caught up with one thought entirely.

That night - so many weeks ago now - Bofur _had_ been crying.

* * *

There was no chance to confront him. No time to speak of the jumbled thoughts and feelings that made his chest constrict, every time Bofur looked over at him.

Because Thorin ordered them onwards, and it was so dark, and so suffocating, that when the elves came into view Bilbo thought at first that perhaps he had fainted, and that he was just dreaming.

It was no dream however, and he doubted any of the old gammers or gaffers of the Shire would scold him too harshly for exaggeration, were he to say it was more like a waking nightmare.

He heard Bofur call his name, though he couldn't tell from which direction in the darkness, and when he finally sank to the floor with exhaustion it was Bofur he thought of, along with the home comforts of his smial.

When he was shaken from these thoughts, it was to find that his legs had been bound tightly together. When he looked about for the culprit he came face to face with a spider so huge he should not have thought its existence possible.

Later, when he came to write of his adventures, it was hard to pick apart the details of what happened in the next few hours. In the initial aftermath it was a dizzying blur, his limbs shaking with a heady mixture of shock and adrenaline when he and the rest of the Company were finally free, once more, of immediate danger.

He twisted the cool metal of the ring between his fingers as he told the dwarves of how he had come by it, and of the hideous Gollum creature. They looked upon him with new respect when he was finished, all except Bofur.

Bofur had always looked at him in the same way.

One by one, each of their number succumbed to exhaustion. Bofur fell asleep sat beside him and, quite without realising it, Bilbo's hand came to rest upon his shoulder, fingers wound in the end of one braid, as the voices around him dwindled until only Balin was still speaking.

"Just crept quietly along did you, Master Baggins? Buttons all over the doorstep! I'll be blest!" Balin shook his head, recounting the story Bilbo had told him. The old dwarf looked at him then, gaze so knowing that Bilbo saw at once how he must look, and let loose his grip on Bofur's hair.

Balin smiled at him. "I reckon we've done you a disservice, laddie. I dare say you know your own mind well enough to make your own decision."

"I don't understand," Bilbo said, because he did not, and because his head was still clouded with lingering fear and hunger besides.

"We only thought to protect you," Balin said in answer. "You must understand that we hold Bofur no ill will, but by custom he is untouchable." At Bilbo's confused frown he elaborated, "Many years ago, when Bombur was but a dwarfling, Bofur was charged with the most heinous crime of cowardice. Bombur almost died. It was ruled that Bofur wear his whiskers short - so all might know and spare themselves the great shame he carries."

Bilbo clutched Bofur tighter. It seemed a cruel punishment for not wanting to face danger. That, frankly, was a sensible outlook to have in his opinion.

He would have said so, but Dwalin chose that moment to sit bolt upright and ask,

"Where is Thorin?"

* * *

Thorin, it turned out, had been captured by the elves.

Their turn came soon enough, and Bilbo was given more time to digest Balin's revelations than he could ever have wanted.

He snuck around the Elven palace, stealing food where he could and wondering what on earth he was meant to do. He thought, once, of simply deserting the dwarves and making his own break for freedom. He felt guilty, afterwards, and thought that perhaps he could understand, in some way, the punishment they had meted out to Bofur, even if he still did not agree with it.

Bofur's was the third cell he discovered, and in between searching for the others he took to hiding in the surrounding shadows, so that he might snatch snippets of whispered conversation with him, through the bars. It was Bofur he went to when the others' belief in him grew too much, and he was so afraid he could not match up to it that he did not know what to do with himself.

"When I was a young dwarf I let fear overcome me," Bofur began, unable to meet Bilbo's gaze. The sight tugged at something deep within him, and Bilbo worked his fingers through the gaps in the bars, wishing harder than ever that there was no barrier when Bofur squeezed them.

"Balin told me," Bilbo said. "It doesn't matter to me."

Bofur gave his fingers one last squeeze, then released them. "I learnt that you need to have faith in yourself."

The words rung in his head later, when he heard the guards speaking amongst themselves of the feast, and later still, when he went to Thorin and set about putting his plan into action.

It was going to work.

It had to.

* * *

So it was that Bilbo found himself in Lake-town, sitting across from Bofur in the little room they had been allocated.

There were clean sheets on the bed, and pillows, and his belly didn't growl for the first time in what felt like forever. And still Bilbo felt restless, nerves on edge, for no matter what Balin said, Bofur could still choose to refuse him.

"What was the meeting about?" He asked eventually, just to break the silence. "The night I was left with Ori and Kíli."

Bofur looked discomforted by the memory, but answered all the same,

"The others were worried that I was taking advantage. Because you did not know, and I did not want to tell you." Bofur met his gaze then, worried, "I did not think you would ever return my feelings. There seemed no need to say anything."

The relief washed over Bilbo, to hear Bofur speak plainly of his feelings toward him. Emboldened, Bilbo took one of Bofur's hands in his own, the way he had so badly wanted to back when Bofur was being held prisoner.

"I did not think it possible for a dwarf to cry," Bilbo said then, honestly, though his cheeks flamed at his ignorance. "I did not think they could feel so deeply."

Bofur made a noise, desperate, and then touched calloused fingers to Bilbo's cheeks with such tenderness it took Bilbo's breath away.

"You are as lovely in heart as you are to look at," Bofur whispered, so that Bilbo first blushed deeper, then forgot his embarrassment as Bofur pressed their lips together.

It was everything he had imagined, lonely on long sleepless nights. In truth it was more. When Bofur made to pull away Bilbo deepened the kiss instead, pulled Bofur closer until he was laid back against his bed, with Bofur atop him.

He had wanted it so very much, for so very long, that he was soon shivering all over, breathless as Bofur touched him everywhere, chasing away all the horrors of their journey. He clung to Bofur when it was over, reluctant to let go, or even to put distance between them.

Bofur held him just as tightly in turn, and that night spilled all his secrets into the darkness so that Bilbo, though he was no dwarf, could be left with no doubts as to the depth of feeling Bofur had for him.

"I wish we didn't have to leave here," Bilbo said eventually, thinking of Smaug, and the mountain, and all the adventuring that might yet come, should he make it so far as to journey home again. Bofur kissed his temple, chastely, and said,

"Gandalf would never have suggested you if he did not have faith in you. We would never have made it this far if you were not capable."

Bilbo nodded, though he lacked the surety Bofur spoke with. "I could not have faced it once, but I am changed now. If it is true for me, then," he pressed a kiss of his own to Bofur's cheek, "all of us are capable of great change."

He would try to have faith in himself.

For now, Bofur's faith in him would have to be enough to be going with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	11. Gen, Bilbo sings a hobbit drinking song.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for [the prompt](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/1990.html?thread=2025414#t2025414%0A): Basically, someone please write a story where Bilbo gets drunk - be it in the Shire with the Company having escorted him home or Erebor and everyone lived so they're celebrating - and he sings the song found [HERE](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RX--cEl3BWw): Can be any other hobbit song, but I would love this one in particular. Any pairing, but I prefer Bilbo/Thorin.
> 
> (Song and lyrics are from the Lord of the Rings soundtrack. I guess that makes this a songfic. :3)

"Do we really have to sing about it?" Bilbo asked, looking behind him with anxious eyes. This was the first inn they had come across in weeks, and the regulars did not look pleased to be being serenaded by a Company of dwarves.

Bilbo did not want to imagine the prospect of being ejected from the inn before he had even finished his first tankard!

"Singing," Dori told him, in a scholarly sort of fashion, "is how we express ourselves."

"It honours our ancestors," said Fíli.

"It wishes our heirs the best of luck," added Kíli.

"For when the world was young," Thorin began, and there was definitely singing involved.

Bofur joined in with, "and the mountains first became our homes," accompanied with a jaunty beat played on knee and teaspoon.

Bombur pulled a clarinet from _somewhere_ and, before he even had chance to object, they were all off again.

Bilbo scrubbed his hands across his face and sighed.

What he'd give to be back home in the Shire.

* * *

"No," he interrupted as Ori was suggesting the next song to be sung. Both Nori and Dori glared at him. Bilbo decided he was unperturbed. Or drunk. One of the two. Still he went on,

"No. No more singing. Just, no. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Do hobbits not sing?" Ori asked, and all three of him looked remarkably earnest about it.

"Of course we sing!" Bilbo responded, with a wide gesture he was glad he was sat down for. "On the proper days, at the proper times, with the proper instruments."

"We have instruments," Kíli cried.

"And what time could be more proper?" Fíli added, apparently blind to the long suffering expression on the face of the inn's landlord.

"Come on," Bofur beamed. "Sing us a song, Master Baggins."

This inspired a short rendition of an entirely new arrangement which Ori later, and originally, transcibed as 'Sing us a song, Master Baggins. Sing us a Hobbit song do.'

Bilbo shook his head.

"Under no circumstances. No, no, and again no. It's entirely out of the question."

* * *

Five minutes later, after Bofur had offered to buy him a whiskey, and Thorin had taken a more direct route and threatened to reduce his food ration, Bilbo found himself clearing his throat.

The dwarves were looking up at him expectantly, as were the regular patrons of the inn. Gandalf merely puffed on his pipe, so that smoke swirled all about him.

"There is an inn - ahem." His voice hadn't cracked like that since he was a tweenager.

Everybody was still looking at him, so he shut his eyes and tried to imagine himself back home, joining in the chorus on Mid-year's Day (a very proper occasion).

 

> "There's an inn of old renown,
> 
> where they brew the beer so brown.
> 
> Moon came rolling down the hill,
> 
> one Hev'nsday night to drink his fill."

Bilbo was starting to get into it now, and started to tap his foot as he continued,

 

> "On a three-stringed fiddle there,
> 
> played the ostler's cat so fair.
> 
> The horned cow that night was seen,
> 
> to dance a jig upon the green.
> 
> Called by the fiddle to the
> 
> middle of the muddle where the
> 
> Cow with a caper sent the
> 
> Small dog squealing
> 
> Moon in a fuddle went to
> 
> Huddle by the griddle but heslipped in a puddle and the
> 
> World went reeling.
> 
> Downsides went up- Hey!
> 
> Outsides went wide
> 
> As the fiddle
> 
> Played a twiddle
> 
> And the moon slept till Sterrenday
> 
> Upsides went west- hey!
> 
> Broadsides went boom.
> 
> With a twiddle on the fiddle
> 
> In the middle by the griddle
> 
> And the Moon slept till Sterrenday."

The others were starting to join in too, and those with instruments were playing a jolly tune, experimenting. Bilbo was almost enjoying himself.

 

> "Dish from off the dresser pranced,
> 
> Found a spoon and gaily danced.
> 
> Horses neighed and champed their bits,
> 
> For the bloodshot moon had lost his wits.
> 
> Well, cow jumped over,
> 
> Dog barked wild,
> 
> Moon lay prone and sweetly smiled.
> 
> Ostler cried 'Play faster Cat!
> 
> Because we all want to dance like that.'"

He was pulled to his feet at that, and the dwarves clapped as he jigged just as nimbly as any lad at his first Overlithe dance. There was the banging of tankards against the table in time, and Gandalf had begun to nod his head, so that his hat bobbed merrily along with the music.

 

> "Gambol and totter till you're
> 
> hotter than a hatter and you
> 
> Spin all akimbo
> 
> Like a windmill flailing
> 
> Whirl with a clatter till you
> 
> Scatter every cotter and the
> 
> Strings start a-pinging as the
> 
> World goes sailing.
> 
> Downsides went up- Hey!
> 
> Outsides went wide
> 
> As the fiddle
> 
> Played a twiddle
> 
> And the moon slept till Sterrenday
> 
> Upsides went west- hey!
> 
> Broadsides went boom.
> 
> With a twiddle on the fiddle
> 
> In the middle by the griddle
> 
> And the Moon slept till Sterrenday."

One of the sour faced regulars appeared quite transformed, and joined him in his dance, followed by old Balin. In fact, as he broke into his favourite part of the song, the small inn was full of dancing - on the floors, and the chairs, and even the tables.

Everyone sang with him on the final chorus, even Thorin, and Bilbo sat as the last note died away, feeling flushed and happy.

It wasn't so bad, he thought, this travelling with dwarves lark. He could do it any day. The dwarves would be congratulating him any moment now on hobbit lyricism, and his first class delivery.

Ori put his hand up, and Bilbo nodded, encouragingly.

"I've just one thing to say," he said, dragging the suspense out -

"What _is_ a Sterrenday?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	12. Bilbo/Bofur, Bombur plays matchmaker.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for [the prompt](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/1990.html?thread=1899462#t1899462): Bilbo/Bofur, Bombur ships them. Bombur attempts to make Bofur/Bilbo happen, because after this quest is done, he wants to go live in the Bag End, eat 6 meals a day and NOT be judged. Heh, he's more than sure that Hobbit ladies would LOVE him. Can be crack or a bit more serious. If Bombur recruits some other Dwarves to help him, you get +8 bonus points, to be spent in your nearest available Ficstore.

Bombur thinks, sometimes, that he knows his brother better than Bofur knows himself. Because for too long all they had was each other, and even though they quarreled, and Bofur could never resist playing light-hearted tricks upon him, they understood what made the other tick, for all that they rarely spoke of it.

So he sees the way Bofur watches the hobbit, expression soft, and he isn't blind to the way Bofur lightens his pack, or else sacrifices portions of his own food ration, when he thinks that nobody else is looking.

Bombur makes no attempt to interfere though, becuase for all that he worries, Bofur is an adult dwarf and, as such, it is only right that his younger brother allow him to make his own decisions.

Yet one night he notices for the first time the way the little burglar looks back at Bofur. The way his face lights up whenever Bofur chooses to sit beside him, and the way he invariably looks to Bofur first, whenever the latest danger has finally passed over them.

"Your eyes are deceiving you," is what Bofur says when he introduces the topic and, though he laughs, Bombur can hear the mixture of dark resignation and fervent hope beneath it, just the same.

Because it wouldn't be so bad at all, he explains to Bifur, if the little thief and Bofur were to make their feelings known to each other. The Shire had been cozy enough, and one would never go hungry there, not judging by the hobbit's appetite. In truth, the idea has quite taken root in his head, and Bombur imagines his life would be very comfortable amongst the hobbits, with their food, and their ale, and their pretty plump lasses.

His cousin frowns, unconvinced, so Bombur reminds him of the rows of neatly tended gardens they had seen outside the hobbit dwellings, and the fragrant flowers all about the place. This seems to have the desired effect, and so it is that the two of them talk and sign long into the night, putting a plan together.

The very next evening he asks Bilbo to take Bofur his bowl and tells him, with the air of a conspirator, that he suspects Bofur is not eating enough. When nothing comes of that, bar more longing looks and wistful glances, Bifur tells Bofur that he is convinced the hobbit is getting no sleep, and that he spends his nights shivering.

Bombur offers to take watch duty, at a signal from his cousin, complaining of indigestion. Thorin glares and glowers but, finally, concedes, and Bombur watches with ill-disguised glee as Bofur helps the hobbit with his bedroll, then arranges his own so that they might lay next to each other. But when he returns from watch to find the two facing in opposite directions, the gap between them small but glaring, Bombur can take it no longer.

"It pains me to see my brother suffer so," he tells the hobbit the following morning, pulling him aside after he has made sure there is no more breakfast to be eaten. "I can keep my silence no longer."

The lad simply looks up at him, expectant, so Bombur pushes on with,

"I only want him to be happy - and you could make him so, Master Burglar. For, and mayhap you have not noticed, he has set his heart on you. I know him too well to be mistaken, of that you can be assured, young hobbit."

The hobbit flushes at that, and there is the sound of laughter behind him, swiftly followed by his brother himself. Bofur settles a hand on the thief's shoulder, and the hobbit tips his head back to look at him, all doting smile.

"Your meddling has already succeeded, brother," Bofur says, his voice growing soft. "It has been almost a week since I confessed my heart to him."

"But last night..." Bombur trails off, questioning his own eyes, and then Bofur breaks into a smile so wide that Bombur cannot find it in his heart to be angry with him.

He should have known.

Still, he smiles back, genuinely pleased for his brother, and for the new plan he has already formulated to pay back his deception.

It is his turn to cook this night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	13. Bilbo/Bofur, Bofur tries to fit in back in the Shire.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for [the prompt](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/1990.html?thread=1791942#t1791942): After the Battle of Five Armies, Bilbo returns to the Shire with Bofur in tow to live out the rest of their lives. Unfortunately, the Shirefolk are immediately suspicious of the dwarf and begin to shun Bofur and Bilbo both. After one too many to drink, Bofur decides the best way to put everyone at ease is to not look so different, shaving off his beard and cutting his hair short. Bilbo hates it immediately.

Bofur could not say why he had expected the Shire to be any different. He had spent his whole life traveling from place to place, always feeling out of place, never quite comfortable anywhere.

Even in the majestic halls of Erebor he had felt strangely detached, unable to think of anything but those they had lost to capture it, and how little the city truly meant to him, now that Bilbo was set on returning to his own kin.

He had confessed as much to the hobbit that night, half desperate, and to his joy Bilbo had taken his hand between his own and said simply,

"Come with me."

Both Bombur and Bifur had given him their blessing, and he hugged them both tightly before departing, thanking Bifur for everything he had done for them, and whispering to Bombur that he was so very proud of him.

He had allowed his imagination to run away with him on the journey, picturing quiet domesticity, and the happiness that must come with always having enough to eat, and a warm hearth to sit beside.

It had left him no time to wonder at the reaction of Bilbo's friends and neighbours, or to think of what it might be like, should he once again feel an outsider.

This oversight soon became obvious. Bilbo's relatives shied away from him, and when he went by mothers pulled their children closer, and warned them within earshot never to speak to him.

Everywhere he went curious eyes stared, though when he tried to make eye contact it seemed that the entire population of the Shire was intent on pretending they could not see him.

"It is not so much that he is an outsider," he overheard one hobbit telling another, justifying why he had forbidden his wife from continuing to take in Bag End's washing, "as that he is a dwarf. Dirty uncouth creatures, they are, and why Mr. Baggins should want to cavort with him would be quite beyond me, were it not for that Took blood in his veins."

Bilbo told him not to be bothered by it, and that there should be an entirely new topic to gossip about come the next Mid-year's Day.

"We are not much for adventuring," Bilbo told him that evening, matter of fact even as his fingers were gentle in his hair, "and we do not have much contact with Dwarves, or Men, or anyone, not this side of the river at any rate."

Bofur did his best to be comforted by the words, and tried to change opinions in the ways that had worked in the towns of Men, by complimenting and by joking, and by whittling little toys and curios to bring smiles to the faces of the children.

None of it worked and one night, after Bilbo had tried - and failed - to hide the hurt on his face when an old hobbit who had been great friends with his father walked straight past him in the street, without so much as a 'Good Morning', Bofur found himself sat in a darkened corner of the nearest tavern.

He had plenty of coin in his pocket, for their quest had succeeded in some ways better than in others, and he drank until all of it was gone. Until the world spun and he could not get his balance, even when the landlord told him it was time to be leaving.

Bofur squinted up at him, short haired and beardless as he had found all hobbits to be, and an idea began to form, solidifying to a plan as the cold night air hit him.

There was a pang of loss but, overall, it was easier than he had ever imagined it could be to take his pocket knife to first his braids, and then to his mustache. It only hit him after the job was done, and then all of a sudden he wished for Bifur, and for his brother, because he had never felt so lonely as he did in that moment.

Bilbo was the one to find him and, to his credit, bit back the lecture he had been formulating on drink and the overconsumption thereof, settling instead for helping him back to Bag End before getting started on it.

"I don't know what you were thinking," was the line Bilbo finished with, and he looked so charming with his hands on his hips and a furrow in his brow that Bofur answered in spite of himself, running one hand through the mess that remained of his hair as he said,

"I can't bear to see you an outcast amongst your own kind. It should not be so on my account."

Bilbo's expression softened at that, and Bofur found himself laying underneath a blanket on the cushions of the settle, and felt the fleeting touch of lips to his temple before sleep claimed him.

His head pounded the following morning, even after he had gratefully swallowed down the glass full of murky liquid Bilbo handed him.

"Dwarves are strange looking," Bilbo said, quite out of nowhere, and sat crosslegged on the rug in front of the fire, like Bofur had seen hobbit children do, though the pipe rather ruined the similarity. "They have too much hair, and too many whiskers, and dainty feet besides which can't be at all practical to my mind."

Bofur blinked at him, uncertain as to where Bilbo was going. Bilbo just puffed on his pipe, then took a moment to send a few smoke rings floating towards the ceiling.

"They're stubborn too," Bilbo said eventually, "and overly proud. They are far too keen on adventuring, and insist on ridiculous ideas like dwarven leaf making for a more satisfying pipe than Old Toby."

Bofur gave a weak smile at this, for it was a longstanding dispute between them. Bilbo dropped his pipe finally, and met Bofur's gaze,

"In short, dwarves are not hobbits and I for one am glad of it." His expression grew serious, "You do not need to change to make me happy; you will be accepted here soon enough, you just have to trust me on it."

It was a long moment before Bofur could trust his voice to remain steady enough to say,

"Even if I'm not, I will never regret following you home."

Bilbo came to him then, clambering all over him and pressing kisses to his face, fingers slipping in his newly shorn locks.

"You do not prefer my hair short then?" Bofur asked, smiling.

Bilbo's expression said it all, even as he answered curtly, "No. I do not."

Bofur smiled still wider, the troubles of the previous days forgotten, and winked at Bilbo, just to fluster him,

"Tis a good job I still have my hat then, isn't it?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	14. Bilbo/Bofur, Kíli and Fíli play a prank on Bofur.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for [the prompt](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/1990.html?thread=1631942#t1631942): The group had been walking for weeks now, they are bored, so Kili and Fili decide to play a prank on Bofur. Maybe he annoyed them or maybe hes just an easy target, not being of line of Durin. They see he's quite protective of Bilbo so they either tell him that something that Bilbo did is an equivalent on Hobbit proposal or they let him "overhear" how they discuss Bilbo's obvious crush on him - doesn't matter really. What matters is that make Bofur believe that Bilbo is in love with him, and they don't care if Bofur makes an idiot out of himself trying to peruse Bilbo or will try to awkwardly tell Bilbo he's not interested or even avoid him. Heavy Bofur angst please, this guy was meant for sadface.

The road was taking it's toll on all of them now, so that Bofur found himself being sharper with Bombur than he had meant to. In turn he berated Kíli and Fíli too strongly for making his brother the object of their mirth, over eager to ease his own guilt.

"I am wearier than I thought," he told them by way of apology, and determined to make it up to them along the way, for he recognised their matching looks of wounded pride. He had been a young dwarf once himself, after all.

In the present he retired some way back from the fire, sitting beside the hobbit and doing his best to listen rather than simply admire the paleness of his skin in the moonlight.

The other dwarves would laugh, no doubt, for talk of moonlight and delicate features was an elvish concern. But Bofur had lived too long amongst Men, and become too enamoured of their romantic notions. He found himself longing not for the gruff declarations of his own kind, but the tender looks and sweet words of Men - and, aye, hobbits.

With some difficulty he forced his attention back to what Bilbo was saying.

"And so I told him," Bilbo said, emphasising with his hands though Bofur doubted he was aware of it, "I said, Archie Twofoot, it is quite out of the question. I am a Baggins, and a Baggins does _not_ allow a pig in his garden."

Bofur had no idea what the tale had been about, but laughed anyway for the indignant look on Bilbo's face, heart stuttering when Bilbo's lip twitched and he began laughing along with him.

"I don't know how I should endure this adventuring sometimes," Bilbo said, "were you not here to chase the most maudlin of my thoughts away."

Bofur didn't know what to say in response, wished that they were alone so that he might be able to sing it, because to sing one's emotions was always easier.

As it was he said nothing, but smiled happily and spent a long hour smoking his pipe and staring up at the stars, head full of silly ideas, like Bilbo Baggins fixing his heart on a lowly dwarf miner.

* * *

At breakfast Kíli and Fíli were still standoffish with him, but Bombur had forgotten their quarrel entirely in favour of the porridge Bilbo was dishing up.

"Right tasty is that," Bofur told him around a mouthful, just to see the flush of pride in Bilbo's cheeks. "What do you think, lads?" He asked the two little heirs of Durin, to prove that he bore them no ill feeling.

They looked at each other over their bowls, exchanging grins, before saying together,

"Very tasty."

There was some mischief to it, probably, but Bofur let it go. Bilbo seemed pleased enough, and that was what mattered.

He walked beside Bilbo that day, amusing him with tales of paupers and princelings, and all those of stations in between whom he had met as a toymaker. Bilbo told him in return of strict hobbit gammers, and indulgent hobbit gaffers, and of his seemingly endless list of cousins, and nieces, and nephews.

"Have you no hobbit lass of your own?" Bofur asked at last because he could not help himself, though nought good could ever come of Bilbo discovering the truth of his feelings towards him.

Bilbo shook his head. "I fancy I shall never marry - no respectable girl would marry a hobbit who has been on an adventure!"

"Does that bother you?" Bofur pressed, because it made his heart ache to imagine Bilbo forced to live out his days alone. He would not wish that which he had long known to be his own fate on anyone.

Bilbo frowned for a moment, obviously considering. He broke into a smile, "You know, I don't believe it does. Not when I'll be so busy with visitors."

He turned to look at Bofur at that last, and Bofur felt so merry that he pulled his flute from his coat and played a jolly tune to make the going seem just that little easier.

* * *

He should have contented himself with what he had already been given, were it not for a conversation he chanced to overhear one night a few weeks later.

"What shocks me is how obvious he is about it," Kíli said.

"So obvious," Fíli agreed.

Bofur froze, clutching the firewood he had already collected to his chest. There was no reason to suspect they were speaking of him, but the fear lingered, regardless.

"He cannot take his eyes off of him," Kíli went on.

Fíli nodded, "He is so desperately in love with him it almost pains me to look at him."

"I don't know how Bofur stands it," Kíli said, with a shake of his head.

Shame made Bofur's cheeks burn, and he knew not what he would have done had Fíli not continued,

"Bofur is simply too kind a soul to tell him that there is no hope for him."

"Yes," Kíli laughed, "that must be it. Bofur doesn't want to hurt the hobbit's feelings by telling him his love is not returned."

Fíli laughed along with his brother at that, and Bofur stumbled back to camp, the need for firewood forgotten.

Could it be true, he wondered. Could Bilbo truly care for him?

Bilbo smiled at him on his return, and took the few pieces of wood he still held fast from him.

"Oh, you have - " Bilbo started, and in the absence of a pocket handkerchief he settled for rubbing his thumb against Bofur's cheek, so that it came away smeared with black. "There, that's better," Bilbo said, satisfied.

Bofur beamed back at him, not caring that he must look a lovesick fool.

Bilbo loved him back and, beyond that, nothing else mattered.

* * *

Bofur waited until the older members of their Company, along with young Ori, had retired to their bedrolls.

Thorin was sat staring into the fire, lost in thought, and his nephews were still far from sleep, whispering and giggling to each other. Bilbo was awake but only just, slumping ever closer to Bofur's side. Bofur wrapped an arm around his shoulders and asked softly,

"What do you say to a walk, just a short one before bed?"

"Hmm?" Bilbo questioned sleepily, then blinked his vision into focus."Yes, alright, I suppose."

Bofur didn't lead him too far, just far enough for some privacy, then found himself completely lost for words as he looked into the face he had come to cherish.

"I -" he tried, getting nowhere. "I -" It was no good, he was no wordsmith. Instead of attempting to say it he brought one hand up to cradle Bilbo's face, rubbed his thumb across his cheek in imitation of Bilbo's earlier actions.

Bilbo's eyes went wide, surprised, and then Bofur leaned in to kiss him, soft and careful as in any one of the pretty tales he had heard on his travels.

But Bilbo didn't kiss him back, or wrap his arms around him. He stepped back hurriedly, stumbling in his haste and speaking all in a rush,

"I, ah, I don't - I'm not. I mean to say, I don't know about your dwarvish customs but this is not the kind of thing we do in the Shire. Not that I'm saying you shouldn't, because I'm sure you should, but I'm a hobbit, and _I_ don't. That is to say, I'm not - I'm sorry but I really have to be going."

And with that Bilbo was marching back towards camp.

Bofur stayed where he was for a long time, the humiliation like lead in his stomach.

He should not have allowed himself to believe it, he thought. He should have known that the idea was ridiculous.

The sun was rising when he finally made his way back to camp, and he didn't notice the way Thorin watched him with a dark frown, or the way Bilbo peeped over the edge of his blanket, following his movements.

He felt too numb to notice anything.

* * *

Bilbo avoided him over the next few days, and the only comfort Bofur had, slight though it seemed, was that the others appeared entirely unaware of what had transpired.

Kíli and Fíli were perhaps quieter than usual, and more aware of the glares Thorin sent them, but Bifur was the only one to notice something was wrong. He even offered him a pinch of his pipeweed, the type he only smoked on special occasions.

Bofur refused, though he was sorely tempted, and played at being jolly and unaffected, as though Bilbo didn't occupy his thoughts constantly. It didn't work, and he couldn't stop himself from watching the hobbit night and day, though it pained him bitterly to do so.

The worst was that Bilbo attempted, after a week had passed, to carry on as though nothing had happened. He'd make small talk, but quieten whenever the conversation grew too personal. And he'd still sit beside him at mealtimes, though went out of his way to ensure their bedrolls were nowhere near each other.

"Do all dwarves," he began one night, then seemingly thought better of his phrasing and said instead, "Is it common amongst dwarves," his voice lowered, "for the menfolk to lie with each other?"

Bilbo's cheeks were burning, and he kept sending anxious glances towards the others, to check that they hadn't overheard him. Bofur felt something twist in his chest because the question was asked without malice, and he would still have preferred for the blow to have been physical.

"Common enough," he managed in answer, and Bilbo looked at him for a long moment before whispering,

"It is not spoken of in the Shire. Not by respectable folk."

"You don't need to explain," Bofur told him, and had to get up and light his pipe, before it grew too much and he further embarrassed himself.

* * *

So it went on. He felt sure, sometimes, that the wound would heal if Bilbo would only give him some space. If he didn't have to see his smile, or feel the warmth of him as they sat beside each other.

At other times he felt he would give anything, so long as Bilbo didn't cut the ties between them completely. To have anything of him, it seemed then, was surely better than to have nothing.

Bilbo took to casting him worried glances and, finally, stopped even moving his bedroll, instead sleeping pressed slightly too close, like he was intent on tormenting him. He wasn't, of course, Bofur told himself sternly. The hobbit was too kind hearted.

It rained one day, on and on, so that the rest of the Company complained about the water in their boots, and the way they were soaked through to even their smalls. Bofur scarcely noticed it, marching listlessly on until Thorin halted suddenly and pulled his nephews forward by locks of their hair.

"Enough of this. You two, apologise."

The youngsters hung their heads, fidgeting as they exchanged a look before doing their uncle's bidding.

"We're sorry," they murmured together.

"It was only meant as a joke," Fíli told him.

"I thought he might love you," Kíli added, stubborn 'til the last. "He _is_ always looking at you."

Balin cast them a curious glance as he passed and Bofur stood up a little straighter, to get it over with, and said formally,

"I accept your apology."

Kíli sagged with relief, even as Thorin turned and resumed his marching. Fíli was the one to linger, expression remorseful as he said,

"I truly am sorry."

Bofur nodded. It didn't seem important, not really, for they were but lads, and it made sense now, that there had never been any truth in his imaginings anyway.

Fíli hesitated then said somberly, "Though I did not see it then, I do see it now. Kíli is right; he never takes his eyes off you."

Fíli walked on, and Bofur looked around, hoping to see Bombur or Bifur nearby. He was in sudden need of friendly companionship. Instead he saw Bilbo, a sorry sight in the driving rain, looking straight over at him.

Bofur thought, for a moment, of making his way towards him. Of offering his hat, or a steadying hand as they pushed through the mud. Then he remembered the awful feeling as he saw the panic on Bilbo's face, and heard his words of rejection.

He'd made the mistake once, he thought as he rejoined the path.

He wouldn't make it again.

* * *

It was late when they finally made camp for the night, and Bofur was set on unpacking his bedroll and going straight to sleep. But Bilbo was limping noticably as he struggled with his own pack, so that Bofur's resolve melted away and he couldn't help but make his way over to him.

"What happened?" He asked, and took Bilbo's pack from him with sure hands, setting out his bedroll in moments.

Bilbo didn't quite meet his eye as he said in reply, "I slipped. It's nothing."

Bofur felt sorry then, for choosing to go on ahead, and he wished there was something he could do. He was just wondering if Bifur would let him give the hobbit that pinch of his pipeweed when Bilbo put a tentative hand on his arm, face pale but expression determined.

"Would you walk with me, just a little?"

He could not have turned down the request for all the gold in Erebor, and he did not object when Bilbo clung to him for balance, though the closeness set his heart to hammering.

"I heard Fíli and Kíli apologise to you earlier," Bilbo said when they were out of immediate sight and earshot of the others. "I think it was a cruel trick they played on you."

"They're only young," Bofur said in their defence. "Near enough tweens by your reckoning."

Bilbo looked unconvinced but gave a tight nod, then looked up at the stars, hand still curled around his arm.

"They look pretty, don't they? I always thought so."

"Dwarves don't care much for the twinkling of stars," Bofur said, unconsciously repeating words his father had once said to him. "Not when we can have the twinkling of precious ores and gemstones."

Bilbo turned his gaze back to his face then, frowning slightly. "You don't mean that."

Before Bofur could argue Bilbo went on,

"I reckon you're as strange a dwarf as I am a hobbit. No hobbit would smile merrily at the idea of never being married, and never having a smial-ful of children. It's what we do, you see."

Bofur nodded, though he wasn't entirely sure he did, not really.

It seemed enough for Bilbo because he shifted so that he was stood in front of Bofur, never letting go of his hold on his arm.

"I was frightened of what it would mean," Bilbo said, the words almost too quiet. "I was frightened of what you might want from me."

"I'd never hurt you," Bofur said, though his throat felt choked up, and the words came out scratchy and awkward.

"I know," Bilbo said, and gave him a small smile. "I should have known, but I know it now. I'm not frightened now."

With that he pressed closer still, then reached up until he could press their lips together.

For a moment Bofur was frozen in shock, not daring to believe that it was really happening. And then Bilbo was making as if to step away and Bofur couldn't bear it, wrapped his arms about Bilbo's slim shoulders and kissed him back properly, fulfilling months worth of wishing and dreaming.

They kissed and kissed, until the chill in the ground and the air made Bilbo shiver and Bofur would hear no protests, kissing him one last time, soundly, before leading the way back towards camp and their blankets.

"Do you forgive me?" Bilbo asked anxiously on the very threshold, and it took willpower not to break into song, or scoop the hobbit into his arms all over again.

He made do with pressing a kiss to the corner of Bilbo's mouth, and the tip of his nose for good measure.

"I never blamed you."

"Do you forgive Kíli and Fíli?" Bilbo asked again, as they picked their way to their bedrolls.

Bofur glanced across to where they were sleeping, looking still younger than they were in slumber. At Bilbo he smiled, heart light for the first time in what felt like forever, thrilling when Bilbo let him wrap an arm around him.

"Right now," he told him, honestly, "I could forgive them anything."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	15. Bilbo/Bofur, PWP.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for [the prompt](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/2235.html?thread=2681019#t2681019): Bofur and Bilbo are in a pretty stable, established relationship. They're comfortable and familiar with each other, but tonight for whatever reason, Bofur has made plans to make Bilbo squeal for him. So, basically, Bofur pleasuring Bilbo until the hobbit is kicking for him to stop.

There was never enough time on the road to touch Bilbo the way he wanted to. Never enough privacy to wring the gasps and pleas from the hobbit he so longed to hear.   
  
For though Bilbo voiced no complaints, Bofur could not help but feel that Bilbo must think poorly of him at times. No dwarf could be free of guilt at the idea they had rushed their partner or, worse still, left them wanting.  
  
So when the opportunity finally presented itself in Esgaroth, Bofur wasted no time in seizing it. He talked Kíli and Fíli into letting him have the homely little room at the end of their assigned corridor, and pocketed the key to the door with a smile, though it doubtless meant he would be tormented and teased for the rest of their journey.  
  
Bilbo raised a quizzical eyebrow when Bofur found him, far from blind to the knowing grins the young dwarves were directing at him.  
  
Bofur simply smiled and sat close beside him, letting their thighs brush, and whispering comments into Bilbo's ear from time to time, just to see the way his cheeks flushed, and the way his eyes darkened.  
  
The hall was busy, the food and drink plentiful, and slowly Bofur grew bolder, assured that nobody was paying them attention. He let his hand lay on Bilbo's leg beneath the table, thumb stroking slow circles, and when Bilbo's breath hitched Bofur let the same thumb drag against the tip of Bilbo's ear, under the pretence of brushing a lock of the hobbit's hair back behind it.  
  
Bilbo shuddered, his meal forgotten, and Bofur could wait no longer, speaking up to make their apologies, claiming exhaustion.  
  
The walk seemed far longer than he remembered it being, and when the door was finally closed and locked behind them, Bilbo was the one to curl his fingers in the flaps of his hat and pull him close, kissing him with a hint of desperation.  
  
It made his own blood burn, to know that Bilbo ached for him, and Bofur had to fight to turn the kiss sweet and gentle, and not give in to his own need. This wasn't about him, he reminded himself. It was about Bilbo, and so he focused on keeping the contact careful and tender, though Bilbo clutched at him ever more frantically.  
  
"You've no idea how bad I've been wanting to do this to you," Bofur whispered in one pointed ear, before swiping his tongue against its very tip, his own body twitching at the way Bilbo gasped in response, and wrapped his arms about Bofur's neck for good measure.   
  
"Please," Bilbo whined, pressing closer. "Oh, please, Bofur."   
  
The invitation was too sweet to ignore, too fervent, and Bofur lavished attention on the flesh in earnest, until Bilbo was trembling in his arms, and begging insistently for Bofur to touch him, to do more, to do  _something_.

It was more noise than Bofur had ever heard from Bilbo in these moments, free as they were from the fear of somebody else overhearing, and Bofur had to move to the bed. Had to lay Bilbo down against the pillows and remove every last stitch of his clothing, just as he had dreamed of doing during those long weeks trapped in the dungeons of the wood-elves, for every other thought he could fix on was too horrific or too maudlin.  
  
Bilbo groaned, bringing Bofur back to the present, and he chased away the memories by pressing kisses to Bilbo's collar bone, and across his chest and his stomach.   
  
His hobbit was frantic by this point, unused to such prolonged exploration, and Bofur moved to help when Bilbo pulled at the fabric of his own tunic, stripping himself with far less care, and far less time than he had taken with Bilbo.  
  
Fingers curled in his braids, pulled him close against heated flesh, and his resolve began to weaken though he caught hold of Bilbo's hand, when Bilbo would have tried to find his own relief.   
  
"I want -" Bilbo started, voice scarcely recognisable. "I  _need_  -"  
  
He understood; chose not to make Bilbo wait any longer. Instead he looked into Bilbo's eyes, glazed and wild with want though they were, and took hold of him with one hand before lowering his head, letting his tongue work against him so delicately that Bilbo writhed and thrashed, hips bucking in an attempt to increase the pressure.  
  
Bofur paid it little mind, intent on keeping his own pace, losing himself in the taste and the smell, and the heavy weight against his tongue.  
  
Bilbo's grip in his hair grew tighter and tighter, and still Bofur refused to be hurried. He scattered kisses across Bilbo's hip bone when he cried Bofur's name, begging, and he sucked a brand against the quivering flesh of his inner thigh, when he deemed that Bilbo was too close to take any greater stimulation.   
  
Yet he couldn't keep Bilbo on the edge forever, had not the heart to keep on denying him. And so he grasped Bilbo's hips and swallowed around him, continuing to work at him even as Bilbo kicked and squirmed and twisted, near sobbing as he whimpered that he could surely take no more of it.  
  
It was difficult then not to simply take himself in hand, to give into the desperate ache between his own legs, for in that moment Bilbo looked so very beautiful.  
  
But he clung fast to his self-control, watched Bilbo gasp and moan and whimper as he continued to work both tongue and fingers against his cock, carefully gauging the fine line between pleasure and pain, until he finally let his slickened fingers work lower, frantically squeezing a hand around himself at the way Bilbo's mouth fell open, his fingers curled tight in the bedsheets.  
  
They had not gone this far before, Bofur too afraid of causing Bilbo pain, and Bilbo too afraid of discovery. Now Bofur kissed Bilbo sweetly, asked him if he was sure, and telling him again and again that they need not go further, not if Bilbo did not want them to.  
  
In answer Bilbo pressed back against his fingers, driving them deeper inside himself, and told him, breathless,  
  
"Please, please don't stop.  _Please_ , Bofur."

And with that it was like something breaking inside him, so that he could scarce think, scarce breathe, for how badly he wanted to close the gap between them. He sucked again at Bilbo's cock, until he was once more hard and straining, and loose enough to take three fingers.  
  
Bofur was shaking by the time he removed them, need like he'd never known threatening to overwhelm him as he slickened himself with his own precome, breath stuttering at the sensation.   
  
Bilbo reached for him, now that they were so close, and Bofur told him he loved him as he pressed into him, breath raising gooseflesh across Bilbo's sweat-damp skin.  
  
It was almost too much, Bofur thought. For Bilbo was so very hot and tight around him, and his fingers were clutching at his shoulders, his braids, anywhere and everywhere, even as he gasped and shivered and begged for more. Bofur fought to keep his movements careful and measured, but wrapped one hand around Bilbo's cock even as he pressed kisses to his jawbone.  
  
"You're perfect," he told Bilbo, meaning it, and then his manners returned and he said, "We can stop if you want to. Just say so."  
  
Bilbo made a noise in protest, determined, and then they were kissing, hot and fast and slick, and Bilbo was pressing back against him, whining as Bofur moved once, twice, three times before finding the spot he was searching for.  
  
It couldn't last after that, not with the way Bofur ached, and the way Bilbo refused to be made to wait any longer. Bilbo pulled hard on his hair when he came, and the flash of pain combined with the way Bilbo shuddered and trembled had Bofur following.  
  
He held Bilbo afterwards, kissed him and brushed his damp hair back from his forehead.  
  
"We missed dessert for this," Bilbo told him with a slow, sated smile, and settled against him comfortably. "But I think it was worth it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	16. Bilbo/Bofur, Bilbo gives in to temptation (ie. angsty angst).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for [the prompt](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/2235.html?thread=2709947#t2709947): Dwarves love just once and forever, and because of that things like cheating are unheard of in their society. Bofur starts courting Bilbo and Bilbo eventually reciprocates and all is well and nice and fluffy and proper and the way it should be. Except that Thorin exists. He stirs something inside of Bilbo - something carnal, prime, sexual, he awakens feelings and needs Bilbo didn't even realise he had - feelings that proper Hobbits that are pretty much engaged shouldn't have. So they have sex and it's beyond what Bilbo could have ever imagined-- except that once it's done, it leaves him empty and guilt ridden. He confesses to Bofur who is beyond confused at the situation, doesn't understand what Bilbo is saying. Was he drunk? Forced? Did Thorin blackmailed him? Is this some sort of Hobbit ritual he's unaware of? Maybe there's something in the water... He cannot comprehend that in the end of the day, Bilbo cheated on him because he CHOSE to. Bonus points for Bofur vs Thorin confrontation.

Of all the dwarves of their Company, there were two whom Bilbo found himself incapable of ignoring.

First there was Bofur, with his stories, and his songs, and his smiles that were so bright and so kindly that Bilbo could imagine himself back in the Shire when he chanced to be on their receiving end, if only for a moment.

And then there was Thorin, with his broad shoulders, and his regal bearing, and his dark gaze which Bilbo could feel like a brand on the back of his neck, so that it left him shivering and wanting.

Wanting with a kind of passion they told tales of back home, to warn you that nought good could come of it, for it was too intense, and never meant for lasting. Bilbo recited them silently to himself, some nights, when his blood burned, and his very being ached for Thorin's touch, and for his acknowledgment.

In the days such ideas seemed entirely foolish, and he walked instead with Bofur, talking and listening and watching the way Bofur's cheeks dimpled, whenever the dwarf succeeded in making him laugh, his pack feeling just a little lighter.

He was not blind to other things either. The way Bofur leant him a steadying hand on the road, nor the way Bofur always dished him up an extra spoonful when it was his turn to cook, and took to blushing when Bilbo laid a hand on his arm, to thank him.

It was no great surprise then, not really, when Bofur clung to him after his escape from Gollum's cave, and later presented him with a handful of carefully polished wooden buttons to replace his lost brass, saying,

"Though this offering may be humble, your acceptance would mean more to me than any riches. I would never once stop trying to make you happy - if only you would let me."

Perhaps he ought to have refused. Perhaps he ought to have told Bofur, then and there, of the confusion in his own heart. But he didn't, and he couldn't, and Bofur fixed the buttons to his waistcoat with neat, strong stitches, and kissed him so tenderly that Bilbo's own heart ached with it.

Because Bofur was kind and strong and generous, and when Bilbo asked, for the first time, if he might teach him how to braid the dwarf's still damp hair, the look on Bofur's face convinced him he had made the right decision, for the way it made his own breath come shallowly.

Yet still he thought of Thorin.

He thought of the way his skin had tingled when Thorin had pulled him into his embrace. And the way it wasn't his heart that set to aching, when Thorin offered to teach him the basics of swordsmanship.

They were in Esgaroth now, and Bilbo glanced about him quickly to see that Bofur was in the middle of some story or other. What he never knew, Bilbo thought, would surely never hurt him. And so Thorin led him not to the courtyard, but to his private chambers. Bilbo did not murmur a word of protest, for Sting was bundled with the rest of his belongings, in the room he was sharing with Bofur, and Bombur, and Bifur.

"I see you watching me," Thorin told him, voice low. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Bilbo swallowed deeply, and gathered his courage so that he might look Thorin in the eye.

"I see you watching me in return. What do you propose to do about it?"

Thorin laughed at that, and then stepped close to Bilbo, calloused thumb brushing against the hobbit's cheek so that he shuddered, and turned his face into the contact.

"What would Bofur say if he could see his beloved now?" Thorin asked, and though Bilbo dropped his head in guilt he made no effort to put a stop to the situation. He wanted it too badly and, if he hadn't, the way Thorin put a hand between them and squeezed him, roughly, would have been enough to make his blood burn.

It was something of a blur after that. Thorin tore his jacket and his waistcoat from him, buttons flying in all directions, and then pulled the rest of his clothing away before loosening his own laces.

"You're shameless," Thorin told him, even as he pushed him down onto the bed, one hand pressed between his shoulder blades. "Desperate for it. Aren't you?"

Bilbo made a strangled noise, and dug his fingers tight into the bedsheets, for there were no gentle kisses nor sweet words of endearment, only the press of two blunt fingers at his mouth and, when Thorin deemed they had been wettened enough, at his entrance.

It was nothing at all like he was used to - sweet, and slow, and tender. Instead Thorin gripped his hips hard enough to bruise, and pushed into him so forcefully that Bilbo had to grit his teeth, so that he might stay quiet enough to keep gossiping tongues from wagging.

He gasped when Thorin came, his own flesh still aching and desperate, but Thorin only kissed him once, biting down at his lip, and then said,

"Finish yourself off; I do so enjoy watching you."

Bilbo did not need to be told twice. Had his hand around himself so tightly that he only bucked into his fist once, twice, before reaching his own completion.

He lay panting afterwards, spent, but Thorin did not hold him, or coddle him, or do anything that Bofur might have in these moments. He simply tied his laces, and straightened his clothing, and told Bilbo, calmly,

"Don't tarry too long, the others will be missing you."

It was then that the reality of what he had done truly hit him, and Bilbo fumbled into his clothing, searching frantically for his buttons but one remained missing, no matter where he looked for it.

He would have to think of an excuse, he thought, for Bofur was sure to ask him about it.

He was still attempting to think of a reason as he scurried down one of the back corridors. He would wash now, he told himself, and make himself look presentable. Bofur need not know how great a mistake he had made, if only luck were with him.

Luck seemed to have deserted him, for as he rounded a bend, Bofur was suddenly stood directly in front of him. But the sunny smile the dwarf gave in recognition quickly fell, and he was at Bilbo's side in a moment, asking him urgently,

"What happened?"

The smell of sweat and sex was strong enough, Bilbo supposed. Nevermind the state of his hair and his clothing.

The missing button was the least of his worries.

Bofur's expression grew dark, though he took Bilbo's hand with a grip that was unerringly gentle.

"Who did this to you?"

Bilbo looked away, for the shame was too great, and he could feel the ache build in his throat, even as he felt the threat of tears, burning behind his eyelids.

"It's alright," Bofur told him, soothing, and wrapped his arms about him like he was made of glass, and at risk of shattering. "I'm here now; it's over. You're safe with me, I promise."

It was too much, the misunderstanding too awful. Bilbo broke free of Bofur's hold and ran, blind. It didn't matter where he went in that moment, only that he got away from Bofur's unwarranted sympathy.

* * *

It was late when Bilbo finally crept back to the room he had been sharing. He had scrubbed at his skin until it glowed, and heaved great useless sobs until it felt as though something was broken. He could put it off no longer, he knew. He would have to face Bofur sometime.

When he pushed the door open it was to find Bofur sat upon his bed, face obviously bruised and swollen, even by the light of the flickering candle. Bombur was tending to a cut above his brother's temple, and Bifur turned to look at him, growling something in Khuzdul so that Bilbo shrank backwards, frightened.

Bofur laid a hand on his cousin's arm and shook his head, but he did not look at Bilbo. It was Bombur who said,

"Take a walk with me, laddie."

"What happened?" Bilbo pressed as soon as they were alone. "Bofur is injured!"

Bombur simply walked on, led them out into a deserted courtyard, and gestured for him to sit on one of the benches there.

"Tell me," Bombur said at length, "what would happen in your Shire if a hobbit's intended was to lay with some other?"

Bilbo wrung his hands together, voice little more than a whisper as he answered, "There should be a scandal. It wouldn't be proper."

Bombur nodded, and pulled his pipe from somewhere, lighting it. "And after this scandal has run its course, what then?"

"Well," Bilbo hesitated, unsure of where the conversation was headed. "They might make it up, or else they would go on to marry someone else. Eventually."

"For dwarves it is different," Bombur said. "An engagement is not something to be taken lightly, for we love but once, and we love everlastingly." He looked at Bilbo at that, then back into the middle distance. "Some dwarves may _dally_ before that time. Most don't - at least not mining folk. Even living amongst Men has not given us the license of Princes and Lordlings."

Bilbo flushed violently at the implication for he had not known, and he should not have guessed, had no one told him.

Bombur sighed. "Bofur is a dreamer and an optimist, for all that he is the elder of us. He went to Thorin, half mad, when he could not find you, and found your button on the floor of his chambers." He paused, so that Bilbo might understand. "Thorin does not take kindly to someone leveling dark accusation at him, even one of his own Company."

"I have to speak to him," Bilbo said at that, the shame settling like lead in his stomach and making the whole thing seem unbelievable, like some terrible nightmare. "I have to explain to him."

"Not now," Bombur said, and his words was firm for all their kindness. "We have moved your things in with Nori, Dori and Ori. They are expecting you."

And with that Bilbo was left on his own once more, with nothing but his thoughts for company.

* * *

Bilbo got no sleep that night, though it was clear that the other dwarves had not been told the real reason why he was exiled from Bofur's bed. That at least was some small comfort.

Still he rose as early as was decent, and traipsed about the too large corridors before giving in, and knocking timidly at the door of his - of what had been his - room, well aware that Bifur would not be happy to see him.

To his relief it was Bofur who opened the door, not his cousin, and Bilbo had never known pain like it when he laid eyes on the full extent of Bofur's injuries, and the tell-tale signs of crying.

"Can I speak to you?" Bilbo whispered, and any other dwarf would have treated him cruelly. Treated him just as he deserved.

Bofur just beckoned him in, and pulled the bed curtains fast about them, so that they might have some privacy.

"I'm sorry," Bilbo said and, though he had not meant to, he found himself weeping again. Heartsore. "I'm so very sorry."

"It is my fault," Bofur told him in response, looking stricken at the sight of his distress. "I should never have assumed you could bind yourself to me. Please don't cry, I understand. I do, really."

"You don't," Bilbo shook his head. He was sobbing now, and took the tentative hand Bofur laid on his arm as invitation enough to cling to him. He buried his face in Bofur's chest, and wrapped his arms tight about him, shaking with the lack of sleep and the onslaught of emotion.

Bofur hesitated, unsure, then embraced him in turn, rubbing at his back and murmuring that it was alright, and that he was released from any promise that existed between them. The latter sent flashes of panic through him, cold and icy, and suddenly he was kissing Bofur, messy and desperate.

"I don't want to be released," Bilbo said, uncaring that Bofur's kin could doubtless hear him. "I love you."

He had not gone so far as to say the words before, had not been convinced they would be heartfelt. Now, for the first time, he knew they were true and Bofur was intent on having nothing more to do with him.

Except he knew Bofur. Knew how much the dwarf loved him, and how softhearted he could be, and how forgiving - for all that it would damage both his pride, and his standing with his own people.

Bilbo exploited the knowledge, though he knew it to be selfish, and told Bofur again, "I love you. I was stupid, and foolish, but I cannot live without you. Please believe me."

The wait was agony, excruciating, but he already knew the answer, relief washing over him when Bofur kissed him, careful and tender, as though it were he who needed to apologise.

"It makes me a poor excuse for a dwarf," Bofur said in a cracked whisper, more to himself than to Bilbo, "but I cannot give you up. I cannot be without you."

"I don't deserve you," Bilbo told him, clutched tight in Bofur's embrace, fingers wound in one of Bofur's braids as sleep pulled at him. Bofur only held him tighter, promised that everything would be fine, that he was forgiven, that they would never again speak of it. That he'd grovel at Thorin's feet if he had to. Would do anything to keep it secret, if that was what Bilbo wanted.

 _I'll make it up to you_ , Bilbo thought to himself, over and over again.

At least, Bilbo conceded as he could hear Bombur and Bifur arguing in the room beyond, over what was right and what was proper, he truly hoped he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've also written this one from Bofur's POV - see [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/613514/chapters/1139783).
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	17. Bilbo/Bofur, modern AU.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for [the prompt](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/2235.html?thread=2654651#t2654651): Just making a no-holds-barred, anything goes prompt for modern au. any reasoning you have, any ships you want, any scenarios you got, i'll take them. all of the multi-fills. All of them.

"And if you join today, I get half your XP for a week. It's not like you've got anything better to be doing."

Martin resented that.

Just because it looked as though he was sat on the sofa in his boxers eating cereal, it didn't mean that he wasn't busy. He could be busy dreaming up a solution to the third world debt crisis, for all Ian knew.

"If you don't do it," Ian said, and his tone was dangerous now, "I have a message in my inbox from Lucy. She asks how you are. I'm sure she'd love to know about your newfound antipathy towards trousers, and daylight, and anything resembling a social life."

"Fine," Martin said, and he meant it to sound like,

'You're an arsehole.'

* * *

"Why is my thing half the size of yours?"

Ian howled, and wailed, and clutched at his sides with the hilarity before finally regaining some self control and saying solemnly,

"Because my _character_ is a Wizard and yours is a Hobbit. Obviously."

Martin scowled and ran through his stats, and then compared them to Ian's.

"It says your special power is spell casting. What's my special power?"

Ian grinned at him, all teeth.

"Hiding."

* * *

It wasn't so bad, really, when you got the hang of it. It was better than the rubbish on the television, or thinking about his next shift at work, at any rate.

They were supposed to be on a little quest, to capture lots of treasure and, though Majestic_Thorin was a bit of a dick ('why's ur hobbit called Dildo?' was _not_ a funny question), the rest of their 'Company' didn't seem too awful.

There were Kíli and Fíli (Aidan and Dean, twin brothers from Barnstable), and Dwalin (Ian's cousin, Grace), and Ori who Martin rather suspected was about 13, and who made him feel like he was some kind of dodgy old internet groomer, every time he spoke to him.

His favourite was Bofur, who never failed to make him smile, and later that week when Ian told him,

"Don't wait up, I'm going to get lucky,"

Martin figured that Ian wouldn't know he'd borrowed his headset, so he wouldn't have a reason to care about it.

They ended up talking for hours about this and that and the other, until they were both convinced they weren't speaking to some sort of Jekyll and Hyde axe murderer. James told him then that he lived in Belfast, and that he was a youth worker (like being a teacher, but the kids pity rather than despise you), and Martin settled for a cryptic,

"I'm in retail."

* * *

Ian rolled in at about 11 the following morning, just as Martin was leaving for his shift.

Lucy rang him during his break, to tell him that Dougie had been suffering, and that she and Jeff had decided to do the kind thing, last Wednesday, and she was just letting him know now, because Jeff said she was good like that.

He didn't bother asking for the headset when he got home, just took it, and told James bluntly,

"I stack shelves at Tesco because my firm decided they were downsizing, and I have to share my flat with a braindead idiot I thought I'd seen the back of at 18 because my fiancée left me for a man named Jeff who earns £100k a year, and they've just put _my_ dog down and they weren't even going to tell me."

"But at least you've got your health, eh?" James quipped, dragging a laugh from him in spite of himself, even as, somewhere over his shoulder, he heard Ian cry,

"I'm not an idiot!"

* * *

It was becoming something of an obsession, and before he knew it he had amassed more Troll Snot and Warg Fur than any Hobbit could know what to do with, and he didn't dare look at his gameplay hours, for fear of what they might say about him.

"It wasn't that I didn't want to move to London," he explained to James one night, while he stabbed a couple of Orcs to death. "It was just that we had a nice flat here - two bedrooms - and I had my job. I didn't think she would take the dog with her."

"Do you miss her?" James asked, quietly, and Martin surprised himself when he shook his head and, then, remembering he'd have to verbalise it said,

"No. I don't think I do."

* * *

Christmas was fast approaching when James told him he was welcome to visit, if he wanted to, because they had exchanged mobile numbers, and emails, and Martin shifted awkwardly when his mother 'popped round' to tell him that she was glad he had a new girlfriend, even if he still hadn't found a proper job yet.

"I have a job," he told her, collecting up empty mugs and cereal bowls so the place looked less like a student dive, and more like the first rung on the ladder it had been when he and Lucy had put the deposit down. "And I don't have a new girlfriend."

"Boyfriend then," his mother said, and waved a hand airily. "I'm a part of the modern world." At his frown she smiled at him, and air kissed his cheek, and told him,

"A mother just knows. And you've started washing your clothes again."

* * *

It was probably, definitely the stupidest thing he'd ever done, Martin thought to himself, all the way to the airport, and through check in, and the flight, and even the wait at baggage reclaim.

Because his mother had believed he was going to grow up to be a doctor, so there was absolutely no reason to equate her certainty that James (who had a proper job, if not a sensible haircut) liked him with actual reality.

Except suddenly it was too late to turn around, and his stomach churned somersaults as he followed the signs for the exit.

What was he going to say exactly? What on earth was he thinking?

And then James was waving a hand in front of his face, and taking his bag, and acting completely normally while he failed dismally to get his mouth to co-operate.

"How was the flight?" James asked, all smiles and dimples, and because he'd been wrong about which flatmate was an idiot all Martin managed was,

"You have really nice eyes. I mean, you know, in person. That is - " He cringed, and finished with, "The flight was fine. Thanks for asking."

James just smiled at him, and led him to the car, and kissed him once, carefully, after they'd put their seatbelts on before saying,

"I'm allergic to dogs. Just so you have fair warning."

Martin grinned back stupidly, relief that he hadn't messed everything up doing strange things to him.

"It's alright," he said, and meant it. "I like you anyway."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	18. Bilbo/Bofur, Bilbo gives in to temptation - Bofur POV.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I got asked to write Thorin's POV of [chap 16](http://archiveofourown.org/works/613514/chapters/1137097). But writing Thorin is so not my strong point and I ended up writing some Bofur instead...
> 
> Chap 15 was written for the prompt: Dwarves love just once and forever, and because of that things like cheating are unheard of in their society. Bofur starts courting Bilbo and Bilbo eventually reciprocates and all is well and nice and fluffy and proper and the way it should be. Except that Thorin exists. He stirs something inside of Bilbo - something carnal, prime, sexual, he awakens feelings and needs Bilbo didn't even realise he had - feelings that proper Hobbits that are pretty much engaged shouldn't have. So they have sex and it's beyond what Bilbo could have ever imagined-- except that once it's done, it leaves him empty and guilt ridden. He confesses to Bofur who is beyond confused at the situation, doesn't understand what Bilbo is saying. Was he drunk? Forced? Did Thorin blackmailed him? Is this some sort of Hobbit ritual he's unaware of? He cannot comprehend that in the end of the day, Bilbo cheated on him because he CHOSE to. Bonus points for Bofur vs Thorin confrontation.

Bofur had learned to find joy in the little things. A few minutes with his pipe, after the hardships of the day, and being the cause of a smile, no matter how tentative.

That last was especially rewarding as the road grew ever harder, and he gave Bilbo his particular attention, for the Hobbit was unused to adventuring, and his smile, when he gave it, warmed him as well as any roaring campfire.

He spoke to Bifur of it, even, when they stopped to bathe and he had to help his cousin wash and detangle his hair, so that he might not jar the wound in his forehead.

"He is a brave little soul," Bofur said, as he worked his comb carefully. "Thorin should not be so hard on him."

Bifur would have laughed at his infatuation once, or else scolded him soundly. Now, changed as he was by the accident, he merely grunted, and Bofur chose to take it as acceptance.

It was difficult though, to make his feelings known. For he knew nothing of Hobbit courtship, and little enough of how it ought to be for a dwarf, having had few around to teach him. Bilbo was so precious besides, a gentlehobbit back in his Shire, and he was a wanderer, with nothing to offer Bilbo but his heart and his devotion.

He should have waited forever, or so it seemed at one point, but fate forced his hand and he clung to Bilbo when he returned from the goblins' cave, moved quite beyond common sense and reason at the thought of having almost lost him. For a dwarf loved but once and Bofur had set his heart upon Bilbo, there could be no more doubt about it.

Bilbo was still in shock, face pale, and his voice wavered, even hours later, as he told Bofur quietly,

"It was horrible. I lost my lovely brass buttons."

An idea formed then, and he stayed awake long into the night, watching over Bilbo's sleeping form as he carved with the same care and attention he might show under the watchful eye of a King, waiting for a new toy for his little Princeling.

Bilbo's eyes went wide when he presented him with the buttons, and Bofur could scarce breathe with the agony of waiting. Wished he had never been so foolish as to think someone as fine as Bilbo could ever return his feelings.

But then Bilbo was thanking him, and examining his craftsmanship, and Bofur felt so happy he was sure he should do himself an injury, for he wanted to leap and jump and turn cartwheels.

He was so happy that Bombur told him, quietly, that he was right pleased for him, and when even Thorin made his peace with Bilbo, recognising him as both courageous and selfless, Bofur did his best to show Bilbo exactly what he meant to him, sore lacking in experience though he might be.

Bilbo gasped sweetly at his touch, looked so beautiful that Bofur could not help spilling the truth of his heart over and over again, though he was sure it was not properly dwarvish, to speak so many words and to long, desperately, to hear Bilbo say that he loved him.

It was too soon, he told himself sternly. It was wrong to speak of things like love when all around them was danger and darkness.

Still it was only the thought of Bilbo that got him through the long nights in the Elvish dungeons. He dreamed of a sunny future in the Shire, though he had not spoken of it with Bombur or Bifur, or even Bilbo, and pledged that if he were freed, and they were reunited, not a day would pass without him telling Bilbo that he loved him.

Bilbo found him eventually, small hand reaching through the bars of his prison, and Bofur blinked back tears for both their sakes and tried not to feel jealous, that Bilbo had first found Thorin, and not him. He ought to be happy enough that Bilbo had not been so very lonely.

In Esgaroth Bofur attempted to atone for his dark thoughts, and tended to Bilbo so thoroughly through his cold that Kíli laughed, and reminded him that he was meant to be a lover, not a nursemaid.

He joked back, now that Bilbo was once more in good health, and had the entire Company gathering around as he told a ludicrous story he had once heard in a tavern far to the West.

Except he had not been speaking to the entire Company, and when the story was done Bofur slipped away intent on finding Bilbo. The hobbit was worried about leaving Esgaroth, he knew, and his heart fair ached at the thought of Bilbo sitting on his own somewhere, maudlin and frightened.

He ran into Bilbo in one of the back corridors, but the sight of him soon wiped the smile from his face.

"What happened?" he asked, though it was obvious. The scent of sweat and sex hung heavily in the air, and Bilbo's clothes were askew, the buttons he had worn so proudly torn clear from his waistcoat. He took Bilbo's hands, gently, and asked, "Who did this to you?"

Bilbo looked away, eyes clenched shut against tears, and Bofur cursed himself for a heartless fool. There would be time enough for that later. Instead he wrapped his arms about Bilbo, careful, for he had no idea how badly he had been hurt, and told him,

"It's alright. I'm here now; it's over. You're safe with me, I promise."

It was small comfort, Bofur was sure, and Bilbo bit back a sob as he pushed him away. Bofur wanted to reach for him, to help him, but Bilbo ran and, though he searched for him, Bofur could not find him.

* * *

"How could anyone do that to him?" He asked Bombur, too frantic to even listen for an answer as they searched high and low for the hobbit.

They would have to ask the others, soon, though he knew Bilbo valued his privacy, and might not be pleased with him. Right now the more important thing was finding him.

He went to Thorin first, for though Thorin was gruff and did not suffer fools, he was a King and had come to care for their little burglar, if Bofur's eyes did not deceive him.

Thorin bid him enter and, in other circumstances, Bofur might have felt intimidated by the other dwarf's dark glower and square set shoulders. As it was he launched into a hurried explanation and took a step forward, only chancing to glance down at the small object he felt underfoot.

The rest of his sentence fled him, ice spreading through his veins as he bent to pick the object up and saw that it _was_ one of Bilbo's buttons. He could not fathom it, did not want to believe it. But he had seen the tears in Bilbo's eyes, and the evidence was here, in front of him.

"You forced him," he accused, and his fist had connected with Thorin's jaw almost before he had finished contemplating the action. In return, Thorin hit him with such force that, later, Bofur was truly shocked that his nose had not been broken.

They scuffled, as graceless as dwarrows, knocking the hat from his head and tearing Thorin's tunic at the shoulder. But Thorin had more skill, and more strength, and it was Bofur who found himself backed against the wall, one heavy hand pinning him in place.

"He came to me," Thorin told him, tone low and dangerous. "He wanted, nay, he begged for me to use him roughly."

"You're lying," Bofur said, because it couldn't be true. It just wasn't possible.

Thorin gripped a hand tight in his hair at that, and cracked his head back against the stone of the wall.

"Never call me a liar, _toymaker_."

It was Bombur who found him, and he made no mention of the shameful tears streaking his face. He simply led him back to their room, and tended his wounds and, later, after reassuring Bilbo - though it had cost Bofur dear to make the request - he crushed his thick arms about him and pulled him close, just like Bofur had used to do for him when they were homeless dwarflings, forced to try and find sleep with empty bellies for yet another night.

* * *

Sleep eluded him that night, though he felt fair sick with exhaustion and heartache.

It was his own fault, he told himself. Bilbo was not a dwarf - he did not have to devote his life to anyone. The thought had probably never even occurred to him.

And he had not come to him. Had not ignored Bombur's kindly words of warning, or Bifur's threats. Why should he?

No, it would be better, Bofur knew, to release Bilbo from whatever promises he believed he had made and allow him to find happiness.

Even if it meant being without him.

The knock at the door was quiet when it came, timid, and Bofur had the door open before he could think better of it, desperately hoping, yet trying not to hope too desperately, at the same time.

It was Bilbo stood on the other side, skin unnaturally pale, while his eyes were red and swollen. Bofur wanted nothing more than to take him in his arms and relieve his burdens.

"Can we talk?" Bilbo whispered, and Bofur was helpless in the face of it. Led him to the bed they had been sharing, and shut the bed curtains around them. It hurt to think that this was the last time he would ever get to be so close to Bilbo.

"I'm sorry," Bilbo told him, "I'm so very sorry."

He ought to be angry. Ought to turn his back and demand that Bilbo never again speak to him. But Bilbo was crying, great sobs that he couldn't control, and Bofur had to lay a tentative hand on his arm - had to touch him in some way - and say,

"It is my fault. I should never have assumed you could bind yourself to me. Please don't cry, I understand. I do, really."

"You don't," Bilbo countered with a determination that confused him, combined as it was with Bilbo clinging to him, face buried in his chest, and arms wrapping tightly around him.

And then Bilbo was kissing him, hot and wet and slick, and Bofur was lost. Could not have pushed Bilbo away even if he had wanted to.

"I don't want to be released," Bilbo told him, fingers tracing his eyebrow and curling into his hair, though his braids were half undone, with hair escaping in all directions. " _I love you_."

The words were a shock. Bilbo had never before said them, not once, and though it seemed he had not known Bilbo as well as he had thought, he refused to believe that Bilbo would tell him something like that, not if he didn't mean it.

"I love you," Bilbo said again. "I was stupid, and foolish, but I cannot live without you. Please believe me."

It would be stupid of him to give into Bilbo's words. Foolish to think that they could simply forget it and act like nothing had happened. Bilbo was half mad with guilt now, and later who was to say whether or not he would remain so certain of his feelings.

But, for once, Bofur determined to be selfish.

Thorin was a King, could give Bilbo anything. But he, Bofur, loved him, and he could make Bilbo happy. He _would_ make him happy.

"It makes me a poor excuse for a dwarf," He murmured, more to himself than to Bilbo, "but I cannot give you up. I cannot be without you."

"I don't deserve you," Bilbo told him, voice small, and Bofur could hear Bifur's words of disgust through the thin fabric of the bed curtains. Could hear Bombur telling his cousin that they would have to allow him to make his own mistakes.

He would be a laughing stock, if the news should spread. Thorin could demand any price he chose, to keep the whole affair a secret.

He didn't care, he decided, as he murmured reassurances to Bilbo. Promised him that he would shoulder any of it, and more.

It would be worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	19. Bilbo/Bofur, kissing it better.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for [the prompt](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/2235.html?thread=2515387#t2515387): Bilbo accidentally hurts himself, whether it's a bad cut or just a little scratch, and Bofur kisses it better. Bonus points if Bilbo is outwardly embarrassed but really Bofur's attention gives him butterflies. Just want all that cute mushy stuff. ;)

Bilbo Baggins was a respectable hobbit, current adventuring notwithstanding. He kept his smial clean and cosy, rarely missed second breakfast, and he did not sit woolgathering, staring at kindly dwarves when he ought to be making himself useful.

Still it took the sharp prick of a needle to draw his attention from Bofur to the weskitt he was mending. The blood bloomed bright against his skin, and Bilbo sucked his finger into his mouth, wincing.

Bofur noticed, shifted away from the fire to sit beside him.

"You've hurt yourself," he stated, and Bilbo could only gaze up at him, because lately his stomach had taken to fluttering when Bofur smiled at him, and his voice seemed to have deserted him, for all the others joked that he never stopped complaining.

Bofur did smile at him then, near bashful, and Bilbo said nothing still when Bofur reached for his hand, though he knew that the action was not going unnoticed by the rest of the Company.

The brush of lips was so brief Bilbo could scarce believe it had happened, though the bright flush in his cheeks, and the tingling of his skin told him otherwise.

"Well, that," Bilbo tried, aiming for Baggins respectability not Took foolishness, before giving up and murmuring a heartfelt, "Thank you."

Bofur beamed at him in response, seeming equal parts fond and relieved, and took out his pipe, letting Bilbo lean against him as he finished his mending with quick, neat stitches.

For if he were to set his heart upon a dwarf - and the very tips of his ears turned red at the thought - it would not do to wander about in a torn weskitt.

He might never be considered respectable again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	20. Bilbo/Bofur, Bilbo takes the initiative.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for [the prompt](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/702.html?thread=683966#t683966): Bilbo's not the quietest in bed, and Bofur is determined not to bother the other dwarves with their sex life. Que many attempts to cover up Bilbo's noises / get him to be quieter during sex.

Bilbo had lain with his fair share of lasses, and lads too when the opportunity presented itself. Mansi Hogg had first taught him the uses to which he could put his tongue, and his fingers, when he was still a tweenager, and not a full moon before setting off with the Company, he had sunk to his knees for Magnus and Marmaduke Bracegirdle, working them both until they were quite insensible.

It was no surprise, then, that by the time their _adventure_ was entering its fourth month Bilbo was feeling pushed beyond all endurance. Hobbits were not, by nature, inclined to deny themselves their comforts, be they a hearty breakfast or a tumble in the hay with a comely stranger. Yet for four long months Bilbo had known no other company than that of his own hand.

His predicament was not helped by his companions. For though all he had read and heard of dwarves had suggested they were the last candidates a hobbit was likely to consider for a bedfellow, in truth the tales had been doing the dwarves a great disservice. Bilbo had realised this as soon as his companions had stopped threatening his mother's crochet work long enough for him to get a proper look at them.

As the weeks passed he found himself unable to stop looking.

Kíli, though perhaps a little flat stomached, would have set many a hobbit lass - and lad's - heart fluttering, and Fíli looked very dashing when he practiced his swordsmanship. Thorin was as impressive as he was intimidating, and Bilbo spent many an hour puffing at his pipe, imagining what he might do to the dwarf King, should he be granted permission.

But of them all it was Bofur who most attracted his attention. It began with innocent curiosity, his fingers itching to discover how those braids managed to defy gravity. It merged with a genuine affection for the one dwarf who never failed to ask after his health, and who, when the going was particularly tough, shared his rations and tried to cheer him by telling him merry (and some not so merry) stories.

By the time they had been on the road two months the curiosity had grown into something deeper, darker, and at night in his bedroll Bilbo stifled his erratic breathing as best he could, pushing himself into his fist as he imagined Bofur's hand around him.

Things came to a head, finally, one night when the weather was bitterly cold, and a number of the Company had huddled in pairs, so they might share each other's body heat. Luck had been on Bilbo's side, and he found himself pressed tight against Bofur, breathing in heady lungfuls of the dwarf's scent.

"Are you warm enough?" Bofur asked, all genuine concern as he arranged the blankets around them, and it was such sweet torture that Bilbo couldn't help himself; he _had_ to let his fingers stroke against the skin of Bofur's hand.

He heard the hitch of Bofur's breath, in response, which set his fingers wandering to Bofur's arm, his own body fair aching as he traced abstract patterns along it. When he was not pushed away it seemed only natural to move so that he could look into Bofur's eyes, face bathed in moonlight, and to work his fingers under Bofur's tunic, Bofur shuddering as he explored the skin of his stomach.

It was too much then, never mind that the rest of the Company were snoring all around them.

"You've no idea," Bilbo murmured, cheeks burning in spite of the chill of the night air, "what you do to me." And with that said he was laying atop Bofur, kissing him with growing fervour and loosening his braids, so that he might run his fingers through his hair as he had long dreamed of doing.

Bofur kissed him back, first tentative and then with enthusiasm, and Bilbo dropped his head to suck at the skin of Bofur's neck, his own breeches growing uncomfortably tight with every shaky exhale of the dwarf beneath him.

"We'll be heard," Bofur managed at last, though his hips were rocking up into the contact, and his hands were clutching at Bilbo, half frantic, pulling him closer.

Bilbo thought that he should care. That if he weren't so desperate he _would_ care.

As it was he settled for kissing Bofur again, nipping sharply at his bottom lip, then groaning when Bofur spasmed against him, quite unable to calm himself.

It couldn't last long after that, not with the way he was so wound up, and not with the way Bofur seemed just as eager. Bilbo's hand stole between them, and he tore at laces and fastenings, the sound Bofur made when he finally succeeded in wrapping his hand around him so raw, and so helpless, that it almost sent him over, without any further stimulation.

In truth it did not take much more. He swiped his thumb through slick wetness, circling, and Bofur gasped his name, and arched up against him, and that was it, he was shaking and trembling and panting as though he had been running from an entire orc army.

"You are full of surprises," Bofur whispered to him after long moments, expression flushed and fond, his hair in complete disarray even as he pushed Bilbo's away from his forehead.

"I think we may have been overheard," Bilbo said in response, curling into Bofur's side and clinging to him, worried now that the haze was lifted enough for his common sense to start returning.

Bofur simply smiled and pulled him closer, then settled the blankets around them before whispering into his ear, breath hot and damp and entirely too stimulating,

"We're going to have to practice keeping quiet then, aren't we?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	21. Bilbo/Bofur, unrequited.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur falls for Bilbo, but Bilbo falls for Thorin...

Bofur could not say exactly when it had happened. If it had been the awed look on Bilbo's face when they came upon the Elvish outpost of Rivendell, or the sunny smile he gave on the road, when Bofur came to walk beside him.

All he knew for certain was that by the time they reached the Misty Mountains their little burglar had stolen his heart, truly and completely.

He had even begun to hope that Bilbo felt something for him in return. Not love, perhaps, but affection - enough for Bofur to make his feelings known, and to prove to the hobbit he could be worthy of him. That he would do all within his power to make him happy.

Such fanciful thoughts were not fitting for the likes of him, simple working stock from the mines of Khazad-dûm, and he had only himself to blame when his hopes all came crashing down around him.

For he was not enough for Bilbo to consider staying for, and his was not the hand Bilbo reached for when danger closed in, yet again, all around them.

Bofur watched with sick realisation when Thorin pulled Bilbo close on the Carrock, the pain only flaring brighter with every look and smile they exchanged afterwards. Thorin was a king, Bofur reminded himself whenever envy darkened his heart. Thorin was everything he could never be.

Yet still he watched too closely, wanted too fiercely.

He couldn't keep the smile from his face when Bilbo sought him out, nor calm the frantic beating of his heart whenever they happened to be in close proximity. He'd give anything, he thought in those moments, if only Bilbo could feel something for him.

If he had known, perhaps, he would never have allowed himself to think such thoughts. He would have tried harder to fight the bitter knot of jealousy.

But he hadn't known - couldn't have known - what would later come to pass. Could only wait and watch and wish, Thorin's growled words of warning stinging at the time, but haunting him forever afterwards,

"He has made his choice. You must learn to live with it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	22. Bilbo/Bofur, Bofur asks the Thain's permission.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for [the prompt](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/2235.html?thread=3437755&%20#t3437755%0A): Dwarves don't have courtship. A vast majority of their marriages is arranged, which means you have to first of all impress the family and then maybe have the other Dwarf to fall in like with you. Bofur falls in love with Bilbo during the quest but of course does not approach him about it, since he wouldn't even know how. After the BoFA Bilbo returns to Shire and shortly , Bofur follows him. Since Bilbo's parents are dead, Bofur heads straight to the person holding the authority in Shire - which I think would be Pippins's father, who was a Thain at that point - to ask him to grant him permission to marry Bilbo. He brings gold and jewels. Of course, Bilbo is the last to find out.
> 
> A/N: Absolute, plain and simple sap.

"You know I _abhor_ gossip," Old Mother Brownlock began, as though she truly believed it, and Bilbo bit back a sigh and stared into the contents of his teacup.

It was, he supposed, the consequences of adventuring.

For before Gandalf had turned up at his front door Bilbo would have, perhaps enjoyed was too strong a word, but certainly been content to spend his afternoons visiting, and listening to the happenings all around the Shire.

Now it seemed an insufferable chore, and it was all Bilbo could do to sit still, and not fidget, and try to keep his mind off fanciful things like elves, and wizards, and dwarves with sunny smiles and too many whiskers.

He was failing miserably at the task when a snippet of conversation cut through his woolgathering, and the shock was so great that he sloshed the contents of his teacup all over Mother Brownlock's best tablecloth.

"I'm most dreadfully sorry," he flustered, attempting to soak the worst of it up with his pocket handkerchief - and just the very mention threatened to set his thoughts to wandering all over again - "but I thought you said there were dwarves coming to Hobbiton."

Mother Brownlock made a tsking noise of disapproval, and the Bracegirdle girls who were staying with her giggled behind cupped hands, just so Bilbo could be left in no doubt as to the state of his reputation.

"What I said," Mother Brownlock told him, whipping the tablecloth free and setting everything to rights with calm efficiency, "is that a dwarf asked Rollo Fenwhistle the way to Hobbiton last Highday. Can you imagine?"

Mother Brownlock bristled. The Bracegirdle girls twittered. Bilbo counted on his fingers, one, two, three, and asked so many questions about what Rollo had said, and where he had said it, and who else might have heard it, that it seemed he had found his own solution to afternoon visiting, by the end of it.

Rollo, on the other hand, was more than happy to talk of his encounter, once Bilbo had bought him a tankard or two at the Green Dragon.

"They don't brew it like this at the Prancing Pony," Rollo must have said at least three times, loud enough for the barmaid to hear and smile at him, and Bilbo was pushed quite to the edge of his patience by the time Rollo got around to describing the dwarf in question.

"He was a whiskery sort of a fellow," Rollo said, as though this were at all a distinguishing feature, "and his clothes were all over dusty." Rollo supped at his drink, and finished with, "He paid the tab with a gold piece, I remember that well enough."

"That's a great help," Bilbo muttered, for he was now out of pocket, but Rollo just grinned at him, entirely earnest, and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Always happy to be of service. That's what I said to him, you know, the dwarfish chap. I said, you're not wanting to go to Hobbiton. You should head to Tuckborough, if it be the Thain you're wanting."

Bilbo finished his drink, then set off to Bag End. He felt spectacularly silly, so much so that he barely felt up to more than four rounds of bread and butter with his supper. He went to bed straight afterwards but sleep eluded him, and he lay staring up at the ceiling, allowing his mind to wander.

It was his own fault, he supposed. This ache in his chest caused by helpless, foolish longing.

He could have said something during the long months they spent on the road together. He should have said something afterwards, when they were busy, grieving though they were, with the clean up of Erebor.

Too many times to count he had come close to confessing. Had been warmed by the smile directed at him, and bolstered by kind words, or touches to his arm, or just a look, meant for his eyes alone. But then he would talk himself out of it, for it was surely better to have the dwarf as a friend than to risk everything. Bofur was kind, cheerful, a smile directed at him meant no more than a smile directed at anyone. The looks he thought he saw, the connection he thought they shared, who was to say that they were not simply wishful thinking?

One night he had moved his bedroll to lay beside the dwarf, even, face flushed and breathing shallow with anticipation of what might happen. Yet nothing had, nothing at all, and Bilbo told himself once more, sternly, that no good could come of these thoughts.

So there was a dwarf in the Shire who wanted to see the Thain.

It was absolutely none of his business.

He was forced to rethink that statement before he had even sat down to second breakfast. There was knocking at the door, growing steadily louder and more urgent, and when Bilbo opened the door it was to find a young messenger at the door, hair windswept and half breathless with enthusiasm,

"The Thain wishes to speak with you, Mr. Bilbo Baggins, Sir. There's a _dwarf_ come to see him!"

The road to Tuckborough was not an overly long one, though the cart jostled him about all over the place. Bilbo questioned the lad as closely as he dared to pass the time, his own heart hammering all the while.

He didn't want the upset of more adventuring, the Baggins side of himself argued. But he did not feel settled, his Took side countered. Ever since his return he had felt out of sorts, and out of place, and he did not know how to rectify the situation.

"He's either gone mad or fallen in love," Mother Brownlock had declared to her wards, well within earshot, on his first duty bound visit. And now, though he did not want to, Bilbo still found himself thinking of how he might ask this dwarf after Bofur particularly, without arousing too much suspicion.

"He asked after you by name," the lad told him as they started on the last leg of their journey. "Perhaps you are famous in the Dwarvenlands now, like Archibald Broadbelt is in Bree."

"Infamous," Bilbo corrected, under his breath, and then, because it was an idea close to his heart, he said, "Perhaps it is a dwarf of my own Company. Come visiting."

The lad shook his head, all Tookish smile as he led the way, "But surely they would have known their way right to your front door? No, like as not you are famous now, Mr. Baggins."

He was not given the chance to argue his point any further, for they had entered the village itself, and Bilbo saw more than one pair of curious eyes peering at him from behind their curtains as he made his way to the Thain's smial.

The maid helped him out of his traveling coat and hat, and brought him a nice cup of tea, and led him down a corridor to Fortinbras Took's study before Bilbo had quite had chance to fortify himself. That was the excuse he gave, at any rate, when the shock of the sight that met him caused him to drop his teacup.

He was not ordinarily so clumsy. Mother Brownlock's tablecloth notwithstanding.

"Mr. Baggins," Fortinbras said, cutting over the fussing of the maid, a twinkle in his eye for he was proud of his Took heritage, and all the eccentricities that accompanied it, "I believe this dwarf has a proposition for you."

Bofur stopped fidgeting at that. Stood up straight and smoothed down the front of his tunic, obviously new as was the rest of the outfit, not the 'dusty all over' garments Rollo Fenwhistle had seen him in.

"It's our tradition," Bofur began, and without quite realising it Bilbo found himself holding his breath, waiting, "to marry according to the wishes of our parents, and our kin. For if a dwarf is acceptable to his intended's family, he is sure to be acceptable to his intended. If you catch my drift, that is. And so I did not know - Though I had hoped that perhaps - "

Bofur was starting to fluster now and, not only was the maid listening, Bilbo spied the under-maid from the corner of his eye, hovering in the doorway. Bofur finished in a rush,

"I can support you now, quite handsomely, and your Thain," he pronounced awkwardly, "- who I understand is family - has given his permission for you to marry me."

"A wedding!" The under-maid sighed happily, somewhere over his shoulder, and Bilbo more through shock than any real outrage asked,

"Do I not get any say in this?"

The colour drained from Bofur's face so swiftly, and so completely, that Bilbo worried for him. He crossed the room to be at his side and, conscious that his kin and his kin's housekeeping was watching, touched a hand to Bofur's arm and said, quietly,

"I only meant that you should ask me and make it a proper proposal."

Bofur complied readily, clasping both hands around one of Bilbo's own, and capturing his gaze so that the world around them scarcely registered as Bofur told him solemnly,

"Our ways, it seems, are not yours, but if you would have me I would pledge all I own - that which can be seen, and the secrets of my heart - that I might never give you cause to regret it."

The under-maid was fair swooning now, and Bilbo couldn't help but press chaste kisses to Bofur's mouth, and answer yes, a thousand times yes, and that he should be made one very happy hobbit.

It all seemed a whirl then of well-wishes, and congratulations, and after Fortinbras had been presented with some pretty Dwarvish trinket for his museum, they were finally free to make their way back to Hobbiton.

Mother Brownlock watched their arrival from her doorstep, and sent one of the Bracegirdle girls to issue them an invitation for afternoon tea the coming Monday.

"That's right kindly of her," Bofur said, all dimples, and the girl could not stop blushing even as Bilbo surprised himself by meaning it quite earnestly when he said,

"We'd love to."

In fact he couldn't keep from smiling for a moment, even once they were snug in Bag End, and Bofur explained to him stiltedly that he had not the words, at least in Westron, to tell Bilbo what he meant to him, and that he had no knowledge of how to go about courting, for he had heard only the bawdy tales of traveling men, and of those he had no idea which, if any, had a grain of truth to them.

"I thought you did not think of me so, though it pained me to admit it." Bilbo confessed, then went on, cheeks flushing, "I lay down beside you one night, hoping you might view it as an invitation."

Bofur's eyes went wide, and his cheeks coloured fetchingly. "That night was a torment, aye," he said, little above a whisper, "but it would not have been proper. My mother would have boxed my ears and rightly so!"

Bilbo laughed at the image, but kissed his cheek for his sincerity. He had been waiting a long time.

He could wait just a little longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	23. Bilbo/Bofur, Bifur intervenes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for [the prompt](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3138.html?thread=4532034#t4532034%0A): So it's well known in the company that Bifur can only communicate in Khuzdûl or Iglishmêk. Bilbo doesn't know either, and assumes that Bifur is in a similar predicament with Westron. Somehow, he ends up using Bifur as a sort of sounding pole--confiding all sorts of odd things in the dwarf without worry of judgement or it getting back around to anyone. But, of course, Bifur can understand Westron just fine. He can also tell that no one has bothered to let their burglar in on that fact. Cue Bilbo oversharing his fears, hopes, or anything really while Bifur is just generally unsure what the hell he should be doing about all this. Bonus points if Bilbo shares about his super secret crush on one of the company (Bofur, maybe?) and Bifur keeps telling his fellow dwarf all of the things their little hobbit friend would like to do to them. Make this as silly or serious as you want, anons, let's just show some love for Bifur!
> 
> A/N: More fluffy fluff.

"It would be scandalous in the Shire," Bilbo said, mending all but forgotten. "Lobelia Sackville-Baggins - dreadful woman - would have me declared mentally unsound or some such. Anything to get her hands on Bag End. She's always hated me, you know."

There was a grunt in response and Bilbo sighed. It was a sorry state to be in, really. He was so desperate to talk about his problems with someone he had taken to rambling away to Bifur, though the dwarf understood not a word of what he said to him.

"Made him go a bit strange," Bofur had confessed to him when he had asked about the axe lodged in his cousin's forehead. "He speaks nought but Khuzdûl now, and that only when he feels like it!"

Bilbo hadn't meant to take advantage of that information. He had been rather afraid of Bifur at first, if the truth be known. For Khuzdûl sounded harsh and strange to a hobbit ear, and the dwarf forgot his own strength at times though he meant no harm by it.

So when Bilbo had found himself quite alone with Bifur while the others hunted, and collected firewood, he had started up a nervous one sided conversation. Bifur had paid him no mind, busy with his own distractions, and by the time the others had returned Bibo was surprised to find he had been chatting away freely, of this and that and anything.

Bofur smiled at him when he saw it, a fond smile that made Bilbo's cheeks flush and his heart ache, and when dinner had been prepared came to sit beside him, thanking him quietly for caring enough to see past Bifur's odd ways.

That had been the start of the strange arrangement and Bilbo had grown bolder with each passing week, confiding deeper and darker secrets until, had Bifur been able to understand him, he should have known him better than anyone.

He was thinking of this one morning as Bifur signed something to Bombur, who chuckled in return and patted his cousin on the shoulder. Bofur appeared then, beaming in spite of the cold and the early hour, and Bilbo found he could think of nothing else for the rest of the morning. Not with Bofur walking beside him, as free with his touches as he was with his jokes and his smiles, and it was all Bilbo could do to remember how to put one foot in front of the other.

"I fear my love is not as pure as it should be," Bilbo told Bifur that evening as the dwarf worked silently on a carving of an object Bilbo couldn't put a name to. "I ache for him so as I can hardly bear it, and at night I think of him, though I know I oughtn't to."

Bilbo looked down at the hash he had made of his own whittling.

"If only I knew enough of dwarves to tell if my affections could ever be welcomed. I tried asking Gloin but all I got for my troubles was a sonnet on the softness of his wife's beard."

Bifur made a noise at that. Coming from any other member of their Company Bilbo would have described it as a snigger, but Bifur's expression was as blank as ever, so Bilbo did not trouble himself about it.

The weather began to thaw, slowly, and still Bilbo continued to spill his heart to Bifur.

"I always knew, I think, though I knew well enough never to speak of it. There was a lad from Bree, come to work as a farmhand, and I would watch him whenever I could."

Bilbo puffed at his pipe, remembering that summer. The confusion and the twisted knot of wanting in his stomach, alongside the burning shame that came later when he watched too close, and too long, and his father never said a word but gave him a look Bilbo could never forget.

A look full of disappointment.

"I'd not wish it on Bofur," he said at last, quietly. "It is better that I carry it alone than bring misery down on both of us."

They said goodbye to Beorn's hospitality not long afterwards, and Bilbo knew not if that was the reason for the subtle shift in their friendship, such as it was, or if there was some other reason entirely. What he did know was that Bifur laid a hand on his shoulder, only for a moment, one evening when he felt particularly heartsick, and when they entered the forest of Mirkwood Bifur motioned something to Bofur, so that the other dwarf hung back and told him merry tales until he could almost forget the darkness all around them.

"Do you think he knows?" He asked Bifur that night, his legs aching after having become accustomed once more to travel on ponyback. "Do you think he suspects I crave more than his friendship?"

Bifur growled something that sounded low and threatening, then threw his knife down and stormed off towards the other side of the camp, where Bombur was mopping up the very last remains of their dinner.

Bilbo sighed and put out his pipe.

Bed it was then.

The going grew ever harder. The heat was stifling, and there was not enough food, nor enough water.

"Here," Bofur said when a canteen was passed around. "Have my mouthful for I am not thirsty."

"You don't need to deny yourself for me," Bilbo whispered, though his mouth was so very dry. Several of the dwarves stopped to watch, Bifur among them, but Bofur held his gaze and said solemnly,

"I would deny myself much to see the glow of health in your cheeks once more."

The words stayed with him throughout the day. Bilbo twisted them this way and that, searching for hidden meaning and then, when he found it, dismissing it as wishful thinking. He was still thinking on it all the same when the thrice cursed river was found - when Bofur helped him into the boat, and even as Bombur made to follow.

Then there was a cry, and a splash, and such thoughts had to be put to one side, at least for the moment.

Bombur would not waken, no matter what they tried, and Thorin ordered that the stoutest of the Company carry him, so that they might not lose any more time than was necessary.

It was late when they finally made camp, and Bofur sat beside his brother, head bowed and shoulders stooped. Bilbo hesitated, uncertain whether or not Bofur would welcome his company, when suddenly Bifur came to stand in front of him.

Bilbo did not understand the words that fell from the dwarf's lips, but he could not mistake their meaning when Bifur pressed a finger into his chest, then pointed at Bofur.

_Go to him._

His heart clenched in his chest as he approached, for Bofur was weeping, one hand wrapped around his brother's. He swiped at his face, harshly, when Bilbo knelt beside him.

"He will be alright," Bilbo murmured, then cursed himself for speaking such a platitude.

Bofur nodded all the same, eyes clenched tight shut as he fought for control of himself. Bilbo could not bear it. He wrapped his arms around Bofur and pulled him close, rubbed at his back and whispered aloud things which he had only ever told to Bifur.

"Without you I could not have endured this journey. I should have turned around a hundred times were it not for your smile, and your kindness, and though I am no warrior I am here for you, and I would do anything so that I might never again have cause to see these tears, for you are very dear to me."

He had said too much, he knew. He had made it all too obvious.

But Bofur did not push him away, or cringe at his touch. Instead he clung tight until his breathing evened out once more, and then he again rubbed a hand across his face, embarrassed.

"You are dear to me too," he said finally. "I value your friendship above all the gold in Erebor."

Bilbo's heart raced. It was more than he had dared hope for, and yet it fell short of what he truly wanted.

He could not find his voice to say more, and so they lapsed into silence. Bilbo felt the sting of tears in his own eyes, though he was ashamed at his inability to put aside his own concerns, when others were so in need of him.

Perhaps they truly would have said nothing more. Perhaps he would gone to his bedroll and curled in on himself, fighting back tears until dawn. But the guttural sounds of Khuzdûl broke the silence, and Bilbo watched as Bofur's eyes went wide, and then as colour flushed his cheeks, in response to whatever it was his cousin was saying to him.

The exchange was over almost as soon as it had started, and Bilbo was half certain he saw Bifur give him an approximation of a smile before retracing his steps to the other side of their small camp.

"My cousin says that I am an unseeing fool," Bofur told him, and Bilbo would have protested had Bofur not continued with, "and he is right, as usual."

Bofur touched his brother's hand, briefly, as though to assure himself there was still the warmth of life, and then turned to Bilbo and said,

"There is a saying in Khuzdûl that translates to something like, There is nothing so worth gaining as that for which you will fight with your bare hands." To Bilbo's confused frown he gave a kind smile. "In matters of the heart it is our custom not to meddle, for if a dwarf's love is true he must find the courage to make it known. I have always been too much of a coward."

At this Bilbo did protest.

Bofur shook his head. "T'is true. Could Bombur speak he would tell you; these last months he has heard time and again what I ought to have been saying to you. You have burgled away my heart, Master Burglar."

The admission stole the breath from his lungs and the words from his lips, leaving Bilbo with little option but to launch himself at the dwarf to prove his happiness. It was only when Bofur chuckled at the display - a sound that he had long since come to cherish - and ran gentle fingers through his hair that a thought occurred to Bilbo.

"Bifur -" he began, the realisation washing over him in an ice cold wave. "I told him -" He had told him many things which, really, he ought never have said aloud to anyone. It wasn't respectable.

"He says you are exasperating but true-hearted," Bofur recounted softly, expression tender. "And that if he had realised the misunderstanding sooner, he should never have accused you of needing an intermediary. He will never let me live down forcing him to speak out!"

It wasn't much comfort, thought Bilbo.

But then he looked at Bofur again, his heart fit to burst, and Bilbo decided he didn't care. He'd stand in front of the Party Tree and tell the whole of Hobbiton how he felt if only it meant Bofur would continue to look at him like that.

"He will be alright," Bilbo said, repeating his earlier words, and taking Bofur's hand as he looked back at his brother.

He didn't know how, or even what else might yet pass to torment them. But they would make it through. He would yet learn the words to properly thank Bifur, and make the journey to visit all of Bombur's little dwarflings. He would show Bofur all the prettiest places in the Shire, and watch with satisfaction at the breakfast table, as Bofur worked his way through all his mother's favourite jam recipes. 

"I love you," he told Bofur in a whisper, as a pledge to the dwarf and to himself. 

They would make it through this adventure. 

They had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	24. Bilbo/Bofur, character death.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some angsty character death, because the idea wouldn't leave me alone.

Bilbo truly believed that Erebor was a cursed place.

At night the caverns echoed with noises that could not be accounted for, and even in the days the darkness seemed to crowd in all around them, no matter how many flickering candles and lanterns were pulled into service.

Kíli and Fíli had given their lives for it, a home they had never seen, and Bilbo had watched on helpless as Thorin, King under the Mountain, had taken his dying breaths without crown or throne to show for his struggles.

Thorin's last words still haunted Bilbo, so that it made him ill to watch the dwarves risk life and limb to gain access to the great gold hoards.

"This place frightens me," he confessed to Bofur one evening, even as all around them were singing and feasting. Bofur did not laugh at him, or dismiss his worries as foolishness. Instead he sat with him, and took his hand, and Bilbo was but moments away from confessing a hundred other truths when a scream sounded, such as made his blood run cold.

The rescue work went on long into the night, and Bofur's pale face was streaked with dirt and blood when he lay the mangled body of one young dwarf on the floor of the Great Hall. The other's leg had been crushed by piles of stone, and he cried out pitifully all through the morning, for though they tried, there was nothing more to be done for him.

Bilbo twisted and turned when exhaustion finally forced him to his bedroll. He wanted to leave Erebor, and would have already were it not for his own cowardice. For the words choked him whenever he tried to speak them, and he debated endlessly with himself, for he did not think he could bear to lose the dwarf's friendship.

Still the truth was plain: he wanted Bofur to leave with him.

It was difficult to pinpoint exactly when his feelings had become what they were. He had not looked upon Bofur any differently that night at Bag End, and later he had fought against it with all his might, for it was not right, and it was not proper.

But he himself was part Took, and furthermore had consented to be part of an adventure. It was not quite so shocking then that he should grow to cherish whiskery smiles and strange tales, where other hobbits his age might hold dear ringlets and baking.

It was Bofur's smile Bilbo's thoughts were set on when he gave up on sleep entirely. He found Bofur easily enough, but the dwarf's expression was solemn rather than sunny.

"You did everything you could," Bilbo said, guessing at its cause. The two young dwarves were due to be entombed the following evening, in line with the dwarvish custom.

Bofur sighed, the slump to his shoulders so uncharacteristic that it made Bilbo feel on edge and nervous.

"I am not much company tonight, I fear." Bofur said, gaze fixed on some other place, or some other time.

Bilbo swallowed thickly, and forced his own words past suddenly dry lips. "I am here for you, should you want me."

Bofur nodded, though said nought, and pressed one hand to his eyes so Bilbo might not see the wetness gathered there.

He watched Bofur still more closely than had become his habit in the days which followed. He saw the way the dwarf shook his head at mealtimes, though Bombur did his best with the supplies available to him. And he saw the way Bofur grew unsteady on his feet, though it had been days since he had last taken any ale.

Others had noticed too, it seemed.

When the dwarves broke into teams one morning, to better clear the corridors and restore the once grand rooms to their former glory, the elder of their number held the younger back when Bofur fell, dark murmurs breaking out amongst them.

"T'is as we feared," Balin said, sadly, after a brief examination. "The sickness is upon him."

It was Bilbo alone who crouched beside the dwarf, and pressed a hand to his fevered brow.

"You ought not to blame them," Balin told Bilbo later, as they set about quarantining the sickroom, as Bilbo had not seen done since the great plague came many moons ago, during the Fell Winter. "They have witnessed the sickness wipe out whole lines. I know not how it might affect a hobbit."

Balin, Bilbo learned, had been stricken with the sickness as a youth and recovered. He knew from the shuttered look in the old dwarf's eyes that he had known many who had not been as lucky. In the present it was Balin who sent his brother to find Gandalf, and it was Balin who sat with a dwarven lass who had followed her kin to help with the clean up of Erebor, though both knew she would now never see them again.

Bilbo sat himself beside Bofur and refused to accept that which was obvious.

"It's this horrid place," he told the dwarf when he writhed and cried out in words that made no sense to his ears, "you will doubtless feel much better when we leave here."

Bofur clung tight to his hand, and wept with the pain though he tried to smile for Bilbo, and thanked him again and again for his kindness, in the moments in which he was aware of himself and of what was happening.

Bilbo for his part talked ceaselessly, of Bag End, and of the Shire, and of all the characters who resided there. When he had exhausted himself on that front he told Bofur of all the moments which had convinced Bilbo it was foolish to continue to ignore what his heart was telling him, and that he had even forgiven Bofur for his misguided attempts at comforting him in the early days of their voyage, for if he hadn't been so busy being indignant, he should have probably been terrified.

It wasn't until Balin pressed a coin into the lass' mouth, and covered her in a winding sheet that the reality of the situation truly hit Bilbo.

Bofur had not been sensible of his surroundings for long days by this time, and his braids lay limp and damp about his face, his breathing coming in a shallow death rattle.

"You cannot die here," Bilbo told him, scarce above a whisper. "Please don't leave me here."

When he had control of himself once more Gandalf had finally arrived from his business with the elves, and he gave Bilbo a kindly smile before he set to work, knowing much as he did of remedies and medicines. Balin, however, did not look hopeful, and laid a heavy hand on Bilbo's shoulder as he led him from the room into a corridor.

There was nought they could do but wait now.

A message had been left for Balin in Ori's neat script. Bombur was in mourning, it said, though Bifur would either not accept or did not understand the seriousness of his cousin's illness. Balin said nothing more when the note was read, and the only sound to break the silence was Bilbo's sobbing, for those who had already fallen, and for all that might have been had he only had more courage.

He slept fitfully against unforgiving stone, and could not place his surroundings for long moments, when wakefulness eventually penetrated his nightmares. With awareness came the knowing, though Bilbo could not have said how he was so sure of it.

Gandalf was sat beside the little bed when Bilbo pushed the door open, the same broken look he had worn at Thorin's deathbed. Bilbo stepped forward silently, and let his fingers play along the length of one braid for the last time. He pressed a chaste kiss to the cool skin of Bofur's temple, and watched unseeingly as preparations were made. Drifted through the days numbly, even as the dwarves held their entombing ceremony, and sang mournful dirges that seemed to rumble through the entire mountain.

"He would have wanted you to have this," Bombur told him the night before he was due to leave, and Bilbo tucked the knife safely into his pack for he had not the words to express what it meant to him, nor the voice to attempt to pronounce the dwarvish runes carved into the knife's handle.

"The dwarves believe that you are never truly gone," Gandalf said to him, once they were on the road again, "so long as your true name is known to someone."

Bilbo ran his fingertips over the carefully carved runes, the tears finally welling and falling.

"My adventuring days are done," he told Gandalf, for the wizard was wise enough to understand what he meant by it, and why the knife could never be a true comfort.

Hobbits held no such belief and, Took blood or no, he was and always would be Bilbo Baggins of Bag End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	25. Bilbo/Bofur, hobbits have sensitive ears.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for [the prompt](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/1990.html?thread=2088390#t2088390%0A): Bofur/Bilbo. Because Bofur wishes him the best. In his pants.
> 
> There can never be enough random porn, right?

Bilbo was sure he would never have spoken of it at all were it not for the brandy.

And he should not have been talked into drinking that, were it not for Kíli offering him a pinch of his pipeweed, so that his own might last a little longer.

He had seen that same glint of mischief in the eye of many a tween, back home in the Shire.

As it was he felt altogether too light and too comfortable, and when the topic of conversation came around to private matters, he blushed but did not attempt to speak of other things, as he otherwise might have done.

"She had nought but praise for dwarves after that night," Fíli was saying of a lass he had once met in bar, to the strains of raucous laughter, when Kíli turned to him and asked,

"And what of you, Master Baggins? Is your Shire rife with tales of your liaisons?"

Bilbo attempted to sit straighter, affronted for the suggestion was no laughing matter, but all he succeeded in doing was slumping against Bofur's shoulder and glaring crossly at the young dwarf.

There was more laughter, and a crass comment, and then the discussion moved on.

Except that it did not move on entirely, because Bofur shifted them so that they were both sat a little more comfortably, with their backs to a log, and said with a smile,

"Pay Kíli no mind; he is only a lad, and meant no harm by it."

That could have been the end of it. But Bilbo couldn't help but smile back for he had grown fond of Bofur's smiles, and fonder still of being the cause of them. It was for this reason that he found himself telling Bofur in hushed tones of the time he had been caught rubbing his ear by Mother Brownlock and her daughters, and had been quite certain he should die of the embarrassment.

"I've heard it called many things," Bofur laughed, cheeks dimpled, "but _rubbing my ear_ is a new one!"

Bilbo flushed, and frowned, and only slurred a little as he told Bofur sternly, "I meant exactly what I said. It's quite scandalous to be caught at it, you know."

Perhaps it was the way he said it, or perhaps it was simply too unlike the ways of dwarves for Bofur to believe him. Either way Bofur smiled widely at him, dimples and all, and reached out to let his fingers caress the tips of Bilbo's ear, meaning only to tease him.

But it had been so long, and he had thought of it so often, that Bilbo couldn't help the way he shuddered, nor the way his mouth fell open.

Bofur pulled away as though scalded, and his tone was sincere when he said, "Forgive me."

"I -" Bilbo started, and he did not know how he meant to finish it, because Bofur's eyes were too dark, and the pounding of his own heart was too loud. And then, suddenly, it was too much and he had his fingers curled in the flaps of Bofur's hat, pulling him closer.

"I rather think Master Baggins has had too much to drink," Bofur said, far louder than was strictly necessary, and Bilbo would have set to panicking were it not for the drink and the pipeweed, and the way Bofur hauled him into his arms and _carried_ him to his bedroll.

"I really must apologise," Bilbo began when Bofur set him down, but Bofur settled beside him and said in a low whisper,

"Now we are out of sight, let me do the apologising."

Bilbo could see no good reason to argue, not with the way Bofur punctuated the words by licking a heated stripe along the curve of his ear.

When the action caused him to buck up, helpless, Bofur did it again, and again, and let his teeth scrape against the very tip so that Bilbo had to flip them over, and pull at buckles and fastenings and braids, and nip at Bofur's lower lip until they were both worked into a frenzy.

It probably wasn't the best idea he had ever had, or so he would think if he were sober. But he was not, and neither was Bofur - at least not entirely - and so Bilbo determined to do as he wanted, his fingers running through the hair on Bofur's chest, even as his mouth followed.

Bofur propped himself up to watch, so that their eyes met, and feeling carefree and mischievous Bilbo smiled at him, sweetly, before flicking his tongue out to taste him.

Bofur gasped and cursed, and Bilbo felt heat flood through him, even as he dropped his head and began to suck in earnest, the fingers of one hand wrapping around the flesh he couldn't swallow.

He took his time about it, just because he could, and worked his tongue against the swollen head when Bofur began to tremble, and to groan his name over and over again.

"You'll be the death of me," Bofur told him when he let his fingers wander lower, and then, inspired, the dwarf caressed his own fingers against the tips of Bilbo's ears, so that Bilbo squirmed and whined and pressed against his breeches so hard it was painful.

Bofur shook under his enthusiasm, and he went rigid as he spilled, the touch at Bilbo's ear becoming a tight pinch between thumb and forefinger. It was enough to send him over, without so much as pressing a hand to himself.

He felt weak and boneless in the aftermath, so that it was Bofur who pulled him up to lay against his chest, and Bofur who pressed kisses to his face and told him that he was beautiful, and that he held him dear, and all manner of sweet things that Bilbo had scarcely dared to hope he might ever hear from Bofur.

"You won't tell anyone, will you?" Bilbo asked at last, when Bofur had pulled the blankets up around them, and was holding him so that he was warm and comfortable. He didn't want the others to know, for they were bound to make fun of him.

Bofur simply smiled at him, a smile that warmed him from the inside out, and whispered into his ear that he needn't worry, for if anyone else ever tried to take advantage of that particular weakness, they'd have one very angry dwarf to answer to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	26. Dwalin/Fíli, PWP.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for [the prompt](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3393.html?thread=5549889#t5549889): Your character of choice keeps noticing Fili's incredibly distracting oral fixation- fiddling with his pipe after dinner, holding one knife between his teeth while he sharpens the other, absentmindedly licking/biting his lips, you name it- and blowjobs face fucking ensue. Bonus points if Fili knows about the attention he's been getting and totally plays up the ridiculous number of things he does with his lips/mouth.

Dwalin told himself that he was watching the boy for Thorin's sake.

Because he and Thorin were friends, and the boy and his brother were scarcely old enough to be away from their mother. Thorin had more than his share of concerns besides. He could not find time to fuss and cluck over his nephews as Dori did Ori.

Dwalin told himself this story over and over, with ever greater frequency as their trek progressed.

For both Kíli and Fíli had proven themselves in battle, and it was not Fíli's wellbeing that Dwalin found himself looking out for. Instead he found his gaze drawn to the boy's mouth. The way he toyed with his pipe after dinner, and the way he sank his teeth down into the soft flesh of his lower lip, so that Dwalin was forced to look away lest he embarrass himself.

He found that he could not keep his gaze averted.

When they stopped to eat Fíli dipped his finger into his soup to test its temperature, and then proceeded to suck it clean, cheeks hollowing in a display that men would pay for, in some of the taverns Dwalin had frequented. Later still, when they were gathered around the campfire, Fíli asked Bofur if he might teach him a tune on his whistle, and Dwalin balled one hand into a fist, to keep his fingers from wandering.

Their eyes met then, over the fire, and Fíli grinned at him, knowing, and whetted his lips deliberately.

It was too much. The boy had been tormenting him mercilessly.

Still, Dwalin made no show of recognition, and waited until the hobbit and the elder among them retired to their bedrolls. He was to carry out the first watch, and he kept his expression entirely neutral as he said,

"Fíli, I would speak with you a while."

Thorin nodded the boy over, head doubtless full of battle plans and strategy. Dwalin did not feel guilty for the slight deception; the boy ought to learn his lesson.

Fíli was nervous he could tell, for all his outward bravado, and Dwalin had him sit in silence for a long time, concentrating on sharpening his knives, and then on polishing his armour.

It was only when Thorin joined the rest of the Company in sleep that Dwalin finally turned to look at Fíli. His cheeks were flushed in the cool night air, and his lower lip was swollen, where he had been working his anxieties out on it.

"You thought perhaps," Dwalin said, voice low and quiet, "that I would not notice what you were up to?"

Fíli did not shrink away, though his breath came shallow as he answered,

"I rather hoped that you would, Master Dwalin."

There was something about the sound of that marker of respect from Fíli's lips. The way it combined with his dark gaze, and the hopeful tone. He was not a boy, Dwalin thought, yet nor was he fully confident in himself, as an adult dwarf would be. It was intoxicating.

"You are too old for games now," he said, his own voice deep with want, and he let his fingers slide into the hair at Fíli's nape, pulling him closer so he could finally taste the mouth he had spent so long watching.

Fíli was eager, the wet slick of his tongue, and the breathy noises he made enough to have Dwalin pressed tight against his lacings, desperate.

When he pulled at his fastenings, Fíli, for all his youth, knew what was coming, and dropped to his knees with an elegance that only made Dwalin harder.

"This is what you wanted," Dwalin said, and if he hadn't been certain when the words left his mouth, the way Fíli groaned as he ran his tongue up the length of his prick chased away any lingering doubts on the matter.

It had been too long since Dwalin had last known relief from anything other than his own hand, and Fíli more than made up in enthusiasm that which he was lacking in experience.

Dwalin's fingers tightened in fair hair, and Fili moaned around him, wanton. Dwalin lost the last of his restraint then, holding Fíli's head still as he fucked his pretty mouth, groaning aloud when he realised that Fíli had taken a hand to his own prick, and was working it desperately.

It couldn't last then, and Fíli swallowed instinctively, kept at it until Dwalin pulled away, and hauled the younger dwarf up so that he might kiss him. Fíli's fingers were slick with his own release, and Dwalin helped him tidy himself up, so that he might once again look presentable.

"Perhaps you shall think in future," he said, once he had finished with his own laces, "before you flirt so shamelessly."

Fíli simply smiled at him, all sauce and boyish mischief, and said in turn,

"If this is the result I can expect, I think I shall try it rather more often."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	27. Part Two

Thanks so much to everyone who's been reading - I've really enjoyed writing these! :)

Due to running out of summary space, etc, I'll be continuing these oneshots in part two, here:

[Linky-link](http://archiveofourown.org/works/650299)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


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